


For the Good of the Galaxy

by LCWells



Series: Star Wars [6]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6586441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCWells/pseuds/LCWells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did some key members of the Rebellion reach the safety of its shelter? How did Mon Mothma escape Emperor Palpatine?  If Crix Madine was an Imperial officer, what made him turn to the Alliance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Death Sentence

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2006 and first appeared in print in Millennium #2. Since the "Rogue One" trailer has changed when Mon Mothma was with the Rebellion, I'm now posting the story.
> 
> There are three long stories in this series. The first was "For the Good of the Galaxy." The second is "Ceeli." The third is "Proof of Death."

"The Rebellion is failing, my Master," breathed Darth Vader as he bent his knee to the hologram of the Emperor. Alone in his room, the dreaded Lord of the Sith was humble. "We have discovered the supply routes for their latest shipment, and put a stop to it."

"So, I have seen," the Emperor purred. "Interesting where it came from. Chandrila. I think, Lord Vader, that it is time to finish some old business."

"Chandrila is hardly a rebellious planet, Master." Vader sounded a bit puzzled. "Its goods are the basis of the galactic agricultural index."

"I don't think we have to go as far as ruining the planet," the Emperor said softly. "As you say, it's a galactic staple. But it's time to cut the root of the Rebellion."

"The root, Master?"

The Emperor stroked the head of his cane, his lips parting in a slight smile. "I believe so. At least one of them."

"Your orders?"

"I will handle it myself, Lord Vader," he replied. "You pursue the rebels -- and young Skywalker. Bring him to me as soon as you capture him."

Vader bowed his head. "Yes, my Lord." The hologram faded.

 

On Coruscant, the Emperor stared out the tall windows that overlooked the city. He saw the streams of light that were air taxies, flowing around him, kept from the Tower's airspace by power shields. 

It had been a long time since the former Senator Palpatine had a challenge. His rise to Emperor had been based on well-laid plans and thereafter his intelligence system kept him fully informed. That Mon Mothma, one of the authors of that irritating Petition from Two Thousand, had finally come back to Coruscant was an unexpected stroke of luck. 

He'd already taken care of the other major author, Bail Organa. He’d watched powerful Alderaan nurture rebellion against the Empire. The death of billions was an added fillip to his pleasure at the death of Organa and an irritating family that had annoyed him even when he was Chancellor.

He is dead. They all are except for the one daughter and Vader will take care of her. The Emperor glanced over the ranks of residence and hotel towers where lights flickered as inhabitants awoke. Dawn was coming. Now to take care of the other leader who tried to curb my powers. No one else might remember that pitiful piece of legislation -- but I do.

He turned away from the window, thinking over the many aspects of his potential action. At his desk, he paused, frowned, and fingered the head of his cane. The effect of a public execution of such a noted diplomat as Mon Mothma would be unsettling -- and unnecessary. Still, she must die. Chandrila would want pursuit of the guilty persons if it’s murder so a nice discreet death then, he concluded. Then, the blackening of her memory and reputation. 

He sat and pressed a button on his smooth dark desktop. An extensive file on Representative Mon Mothma appeared. The reports went back decades, long back before the death of the Republic. Within the screens of information, the Emperor had discovered something unusual. 

Over the twenty-three years since the declaration of the Empire, quite a number of reports were filed by one Imperial officer-a Corellian Military lieutenant who had wisely joined the Imperial Academy. The man graduated with high honors and selected -- successfully -- the Special Forces. From the date stamps, his reports started as soon as he joined the Academy. 

Somewhere along the way, the officer had become good friends with Mon Mothma. 

The Emperor's lips drew back in a wrinkled smile. Yes, he will do. As a member of my Forces, he'll follow my orders unquestioningly. That he is discreet -- I think there was more to his visit on Alderaan than he reported here. Is he her lover? He was in divorce proceedings with his wife then. How convenient for Mon Mothma and her 'friend'!

Mon Mothma married once back on Chandrila just after the Empire was proclaimed. A strategic withdrawal after my first attempted assassination of her – or, maybe, fear, he thought with a twinge of satisfaction -- but the husband died in a spacing accident seven years later. No children. Mon Mothma had gone back to work in the government.

Over two decades, the reports from the officer appeared sporadically, and were notable in their brevity. He and Mon Mothma had rarely been in the same place for long periods but when they were, they met. 

Strange for such a leading rebel to be such a close friend with one of my officers. Is he a Rebel? Is she trying to make him one? He chuckled. I wish you luck my former colleague. He has been part of my forces for decades. 

The Emperor smiled fully showing his yellowed teeth. The Force is with me today: he's on Coruscant right now to lecture on insurgent tactics. 

"The perfect person to do my work," he declared aloud as he pressed open the comlink on the console. "Order Major Madine to report to me immediately," the Emperor commanded.

 

Crix Madine dressed in the small sparsely furnished room of the transient officers quarters thinking about his upcoming lectures. He knew that he'd not be on Coruscant long. With Vader deploying his teams across the galaxy, Madine was sure to rejoin the remainder of his team shortly. In the meantime, he'd teach what he could to the upcoming generations of officers. 

If they bother to listen to anything I say. Most of them seem to think Veers has the right plan -- just kill them all. No negotiation, nothing practical. Well, I'll do this lecture series, and then get back to action, as long as I don't get sent back to Peles again. Two clean-ups there, and too much blood.

The door buzzer sounded then opened. He turned, startled, his hands adjusting his tunic. "What is this -- ?"

"Major Madine?" the captain inquired. A young man, he wore the insignia of the Coruscant garrison on an immaculate uniform.

"Yes?"

"I have a direct order from the Emperor. He commands you to report to him."

Madine's blood chilled. He stared at the other officer. The captain's face was carefully expressionless though his eyes were full of speculation. 

The Emperor? 

No wonder they sent this… message boy. "I will be ready shortly, Captain -- ?"

"Allorn. Immediately, Major," the officer ordered despite the difference in their ranks. 

Madine smoothed his collar, took one last look in the mirror, and then picked up his cap. "Let's go."

Outside the squat building, he saw his aide, Perrin, watching what was happening with a frown. Madine flicked him a warning to be discreet. He knew more than he wanted about Perrin and trusted him implicitly but occasionally the young man was impulsive. Then again, Madine would know exactly what the officers in the garrison thought about this summons when he returned. Perrin would tell him. 

Madine followed Allorn to the speeder, wondering, what does the Emperor want with him? 

The ride to the tall tower that had been built when Palpatine consolidated his power was done in silence. Allorn led him through two checkpoints then stepped aside at the third when senior officers indicated they’d take care of Madine.  
When they reached the final elevator, Madine admitted to himself that he was scared. Funny, he could lead an attack on a Rebel stronghold, capture their ships, interrogate their officers, and be a proper officer -- but the Emperor unnerved him.

The moment the doors slid back, sunlight hit his eyes, burning them. Blinded, Madine walked into the huge room. Then the window screens darkened and the room dimmed into half-light. 

Still squinting, Madine smelled flowers -- a floral fragrance from Naboo if he was remembering correctly. Emperor Palpatine had come from the planet so it made sense, although Madine never thought of the man liking perfume.  
In the second it took to recognize the scent, his vision cleared. He saw a black-cloaked figure limp to a circular chair, settled within it, and, without expression, stare at him. 

Madine kept his gaze above the Emperor's head. 

Out of the corner of one eye, he saw two Imperial red guards, their lances held up right, take up position on either side of the entry.

"Major," the man in the chair purred, the voice familiar from countless speeches. "I have an order for you."

"Yes, sir."

"There is a Rebel organizer here on Coruscant." 

"Yes, sir." 

"You know her." The Emperor waved his hand and a hologram came up. Madine's gaze went to the hologram. The woman sat in a chair facing them, wearing a robe that left one pale shoulder uncovered. Her long fingers were touching her hair. She looked tired.

How did the Emperor know that he knew Mon Mothma? "Yes, sir," he said and cursed the slight tremor in his voice. 

The Emperor smiled. "She is a rebel activist, one of their leaders. Her existence is a danger to the Empire."

"The Rebellion is being defeated, sir," Madine said.

"I could have her executed at any time," the Emperor said flatly.

"Yes, sir," Madine murmured. 

"But she is admired and respected," the Emperor continued. "Her reputation since the days of the Republic has only grown. This must be handled with some subtly."

Madine looked back at him. "What do you wish me to do, sir?"

The Emperor smiled. "I order you to kill her, Major."

Madine's jaw set. He couldn't stop his face from paling slightly but otherwise he kept his feelings to himself. "Isn’t that a judicial act -- ?"

"If I have her executed publicly, she will become a martyr. That would be inconvenient. She has to die, and be disposed of in such a way that Chandrila doesn't make a fuss. I leave it up to your initiative."

"Why me, sir?" Madine’s gaze went back to the hologram. If the question was beyond the pale, well so was the assignment.  
"You question the choice?" the Emperor asked lazily, eyeing the officer. "My choice?"

"The Rebellion is -- "

"Are you her lover?"

Madine stared at him. "What?"

"A simple question."

"No, sir!"

"Then why did she invite you to go with her on Alderaan?" the Emperor asked quietly. "You were together there, weren't you?"

Madine felt another shock go through him. He'd always heard about the rumors of the Emperor's mind powers but this -- Don't be ridiculous. He has access to the intelligence files. I filed a report on this. "I was invited to the Summer Palace by the Alderaani Ambassador Dorris who I had met on Peles years ago. I saved him from a Rebel attack. Prince Bail agreed to the invitation. Mon Mothma happened to also be there. I filed on this, sir.”

“I read the report with much interest,” the Emperor said. "You obviously deepened your friendship with her there. She requested a bodyguard on Coruscant. He’s an old man. You can handle him." 

"Yes, sir."

"She'll be here for the next three days working on some political activity for her government. That is your deadline, Major."

"How will I know where she is, sir?" Madine asked, his gaze going back to the hologram.

The Emperor waved. The hologram blurred and shifted, and then what looked like a small size version of the woman faced them. She was putting on a pair of blue-green earrings, her gaze full-face as if she were staring directly at them. She looked somber, her eyes shadowed by the light she sat in. 

Then the figure moved, and Madine realized he was seeing a live transmission. 

"She is at the apartment assigned to her by the Chandrilan Embassy," the Emperor said with satisfaction. "There is no place I can’t watch her when she's there."

Mon Mothma cocked her head to see how the earrings glinted in the light. 

"What a charming jewelry," Palpatine mused. "Alderaani?"

"The Organas gave gifts of Alderaani lomars to each woman in the house party that I attended."

"Then I'm sure she wears them for sentimental reasons," Palpatine sneered, his loathing obvious. “She and Bail were conspirators after all.”

Mon Mothma picked up a stiff formal overdress and slid it over her shift, hiding the necklace. The dress turned her into the woman -- the official -- both men knew well.

"You have your orders, Major," the Emperor said, not turning his gaze from the hologram. 

Madine stiffened. "Yes, my Lord."

"You may leave."

Madine turned abruptly on his heel to hide as much of his turmoil as he could and walked out. Behind him he heard a long mocking laugh. He didn't want to know what action of hers had provoked it. 

 

Mon Mothma hadn't been on the Imperial center of Coruscant for a long time. She hadn't missed it. The years spent as Senator during the Republic, hadn't endeared the city to her. With the Senate officially disbanded by the Emperor, she saw little reason to visit the Imperial capital. 

She would stay here a couple of days to discuss the latest import duties then she'd be gone. 

The Embassy-assigned apartment was nicely furnished but impersonal. Looking out the windows she saw the constant stream of traffic as the inhabitants headed to work. 

She'd actively lobbied to become Chandrila's Trade Representative after the closing of the Senate. The job kept her on the move, from system to system, talking to governments and sensing the feeling of the galaxy. That she was on speaking terms with virtually every Moff -- the shock after the destruction of Alderaan made the politicians eager to talk with the former Senator -- helped cloak her other activities. 

She gambled that her contacts never realized she was a leader in the Rebellion. 

If I get caught, I might end up taking them down like Alderaan, she thought gloomily. That's impossible. There's no Death Star anymore. The entire fleet couldn't destroy Chandrila. But it could devastate the planet, destroying the agricultural basis as had happened to other planets. Other worlds would try to replace it and a trade war would break out. She could set her system back a hundred years. 

My actions have consequences that I can't consider if I'm going to keep doing this, she thought, wrapping her arms around her slender body. The Rebellion must succeed. We can't keep living at the whim of that madman in his tower. 

"Representative?" called her bodyguard from the doorway of her assigned apartments. "Your speeder awaits you."

"Thank you, Captain Typho," she replied. "I'm ready to go."

 

Sergeant Perrin awaited his officer's return. "You have a message, sir," he said briskly, as Madine came up the stairs to the front of the quarters. Allorn had sent him back with an automated driver. 

Madine rolled his eyes. "Not the Emperor again."

Perrin bit his lip to hide a grin. Only the major would be so casual about this. "No, sir, or Captain Allorn would be here." Madine laughed. "It's from your wife, sir. Lady Jelda -- "

"Ex-wife, Perrin," Madine corrected him. "A long time ex-wife. Over nine years."

"Yes, sir."

"What's the message?"

"She wants to see you, sir. Immediately, she said," Perrin reported keeping his tone as neutral as he could. 

Madine chuckled grimly. "You've met her? No, you were assigned to the unit years after the divorce, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'd better see what she wants. She's noisy when she's not attended to." 

Perrin fell into step as they headed to the air taxies that hovered hopefully on the ramp next to the restricted base. Once alone on the landing, Perrin asked casually, "Do we have a new assignment, sir?" 

Madine's smile was strained. "Later." He waved to a red taxi. "Wait, you're from Naboo, aren't you, Perrin?"

Perrin nodded. "Yes, sir."

"But you've been on Coruscant before?"

"Several times, sir."

Madine turned back from the taxi that settled down in front of him. "Is there some place where Naboese gather?"

Perrin looked taken aback. "A bar or - ? "

"Bar, strip joint, Wookiee slave fighting arena, I don't care what. Where do you folks meet?" Madine demanded. 

"There's a quarter -- several levels where most of the expatriates gather, sir," Perrin admitted. "I go there now and then."

"Have you ever met a Captain Typho?"

"Yes, sir. He was pointed out to me several times." Perrin shrugged. "They don't think much of him, sir."

"I thought he was a bodyguard."

"A long time ago. I think he's kept up his licenses and standards, but no one takes him seriously. He's a caretaker most of the time for the Naboo embassy annex. Do you want to meet him?"

"I might," Madine murmured. "Let me think about it. Are you on-duty tonight?"

"Yes, sir unless -- "

"Find out everything you can about Typho," Madine ordered. "His past, his present, and stick around until I get back."

"Yes, sir."

Madine stepped into the speeder and it soared off. 

Perrin stared after it, his expression openly curious. This was starting to be an interesting trip to Coruscant.

 

Mon Mothma returned to her apartment early in the afternoon. The morning had been spent going from government office to office with Typho's ever-quiet company at her side. She'd arranged for him to come back later that evening to accompany her to the theater. He nodded and left, still without comment.

She doffed the stiff over-dress immediately, tied on a loose blouse over her shift, and returned to the large living room to enjoy her privacy. She waved her hand, and a large holoscreen slid down, automatically turning to the government channel of HoloNews. It was trumpeting news of Rebel defeats in a number of battles across the galaxy. 

Could it be true? Mothma stared at the screen, all thoughts of quiet pleasure banished. Has the Empire moved against us? Have they found Hoth? 

Restlessly, she walked around the room. I have to get out of here, off this planet. It's too dangerous. At the window, she paused. Looking out, her back to the screen with its strident news, she saw the changes that had come even to the heart of Coruscant since those last destructive battles of the Separatist War. Palpatine had taken down part of the old Presidential palace to create a parade ground large enough for a Star Destroyer to land -- or so it was rumored. It certainly appeared large enough to her. His tower was at the far end. 

And why would he ever need to land one of those Destroyers here? she mused. The Coruscant garrison is huge.

The planet itself was as busy as ever. Amazing how life goes on even under the hand of the Emperor. Yet the trade paths were far more dangerous no matter how many Star Destroyers were built to hunt down the rebels. Pirates made darting raids that distracted the Imperial forces from the rebels’ gathering forces. 

Even if Hoth is found, the Rebellion will grow and fight. But it'll be harder for them to do so.

Mothma sighed and turned. She waved the screen off without a further glance. Tonight she would relax. She'd go to the Bothan circus -- something she'd always enjoyed -- and pretend that the galaxy was the way it had been under the Republic. Tomorrow she'd conclude her business in the morning, and find something else to do, maybe shop, until she left the next day.  
Then I'll report to the Rebellion what I know.

 

Madine directed the speeder to where he knew his former wife lived. An expensive multi-leveled apartment assigned to her husband, General Dren Bonstable, one of the officers in charge of Fleet supply depots. 

He automatically smoothed his uniform as he entered through the formal doors There was always a chance that Bonstable was on planet and while he was on reasonable terms with his ex-wife's husband, he had come at her order -- request -- and that didn't mean that the general might know Madine was here. 

This is becoming a very complicated trip. I thought I was here to lecture on ridding planets of rebels and rebuilding them into docile members of the Empire. Instead, I'm involved with murdering friends. 

He shied away from that thought. 

The Bonstable apartment overlooked the finest of the floating lakes that dotted the Imperial city. A shiny protocol 'droid led him into the main room where Jelda sat on a couch in front of the largest holo array he'd ever seen. She was watching something intently.

Madine was always surprised that she was so physically small when she loomed so large in his memory. The top of her head came only to his collarbone, even with her ethereal silver hair braided into a coronet studded with tiny sapphire lights that blinked randomly, lights that matched her blue gown. 

Such a charming woman to be as cold as hyperspace and as ambitious as the former Senator Palpatine. "Jelda?"

She turned her head, and then waved to the right. "Why aren't you there?"

"There?" He glanced at the huge holoscreen where oversized Star Destroyers majestically sliding across the view which gave way to holos of troops in their bays preparing for an attack. It was impressive propaganda. "Because I'm here instead."

She bounced off the couch and stood an arms length from him, her arms crossed. "You didn't tell me you were coming to Coruscant, Crix." 

"I don't have to," he retorted stung despite himself. "We went our separate ways years ago. I suspect that you've been here the other times I came and went. What do you want?"

"I hear you're due for a promotion."

"What?" He was shaken for a second. "Why do you think that?'

"Not many officers see the Emperor."

"Where did you hear that?" he asked sharply. 

"Oh, this is Coruscant, you idiot! Nothing the Emperor does is secret. Everyone watches his tower! I was told by two of my closest acquaintances that you went to the tower today." She glared at him. "So what happened?"

With a gasp of incredulous laughter, he replied, "What makes you think I'd tell you? Come off it. You know I wouldn't tell anyone what the Emperor told me."

She stepped closer, close enough to lay her hands on his chest and smiled up at him. The perfume vials in her hair let out a puff. He remembered that scent well. It had made him sneeze until he grew used to it. "Are you going to be a Moff, Crix?"

He laughed at her ambitious hopes "I think that Bonstable's your best bet for political rank. Aren't you happy?"

Jelda pouted. "Yes. But a Moff..."

"I will never be a Moff," Madine assured her. What a soul-sucking job that would be. “You’re dressed for a ball. You're going out tonight?"

"The circus is in town. The Bothan one. Did you know that Mon Mothma is back in the city? She'll probably be at the circus -- maybe even in Chandrila's assigned seats. Did you know she was here? I'm sure you did," she added with a knowing smile. 

"Not before now," he lied. "I'll have to visit her."

"Oh, yes, you must. She's a close friend, isn't she? Didn't you and she stay at Prince Bail's retreat --?"

"As I've told you more than once, she was part of the house party invited by Queen Breha. Do you really think she's going to be at the circus?"

"Of course. I remember her saying she loved watching the Bothans." Jelda cocked her head, eyeing him shrewdly. "Would you like to come?"

"What?"

"I have room in my box. Dren will be there, of course, but it will do you no harm to be seen in his company."

He eyed Jelda. Considering how fast the story of his visit to the Emperor's tower had spread, being seen with him might be a real social coup for her. Well, he could use it to his own advantage. "I can't stay for the entire evening, Jelda. I have things to do tonight." 

"But you'll come?" 

"I wouldn't miss it."

"Maybe you can even talk with Mon Mothma," Jelda said mischievously. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Madine shrugged. "A couple of Standard years, maybe. Maybe less. I don't really remember."

"But I'm sure she remembers you fondly from all those meetings you always told me about… later. Meet us in front of the old Opera  
house," she spoke crisply now. "Three hours from now. Formal uniform. Brush your hair."

He ran his hand down his uniform. "This won't do?"

She frowned, then her expression lightened when she realized he was teasing her. "Well, if you were a Moff..."

"I can promise you that I'll never be a Moff so you won't miss out. See you later." He walked out, without waiting for her reaction. He amused himself by imagining her glare. 

Back on the landing, he directed an air taxi to take him back to the officers' quarters. He had plans to assemble.

 

Back in his quarters, he pulled off his tunic, tossed it on his bed and pressed Perrin's code into the comlink. "Report!" 

It took five minutes for the sergeant to arrive. By then Madine had laid out his dress uniform, and was reading the report on Typho that Perrin had pulled together. 

The sergeant shot a glance at the formal clothing, and then saluted. "Sir?"

"I want you to go to the Naboo area tonight, Perrin, and find Captain Typho."

"Typho? Why, sir?"

"You don't need to why, Perrin. I want you to make sure that he knows you work for me, and that you'll be down in some place, some discreet place, tomorrow night."

"Sir?" Perrin pressed. "What's going on, sir?"

"I'll tell you later," Madine said, his voice going flat. "Take Typho drinking, swap war stories, become his friend. Just make sure he knows you work for me and by finding you, he finds me."

"Yes, sir. Are you going to need anything more after that?”

"Yes. I want you to drive me to the Opera and wait for me. After we come back, you're free."

Madine acknowledged Perrin's salute and noticed that the sergeant gave the formal uniform yet another look before leaving. 

Glancing in the mirror, he understood Perrin's subtle suggestion that he needed to tidy up. His hair had drifted out of the immaculate control. He looked like the raffish Corellian he had been when he first came to Coruscant decades ago, when he had first met Mon Mothma -- Madine shook his head. 

Forget the past. You'd don't have time to think about it. 

 

Madine arrived at the theater at the appointed hour with every hair in place. He avoided Perrin's imperfectly hidden approval. He found that Jelda had put his name on the list, and the small floating usher 'droid led him up to the proper box. 

"Crix," a familiar voice greeted him. Bonstable turned in his chair looking even fatter than Madine remembered. Or maybe it was the shadows of the box that made him look massive in the half-light. 

Beside him, Jelda glowed, the lights in her hair creating a halo that was totally undeserved. Still she was as beautiful as when she and Madine had first met, and despite everything, he felt the familiar heat of pure sexual attraction that was what both had shared most in common. Her planet's culture had taught her well in the ways of bed play and he had had the enthusiasm to keep up with her drive. I just couldn't keep up with your ambition, he thought, letting the impulse fade. I wonder who is keeping you under control now that Bonstable isn't the same man you married. Or has even your drive faded after all these years?

"Crix!" Jelda exclaimed a beat after her husband. She turned to smile, sweetly at Madine, her eyes icy. He recognized the signs -- she was in a temper. Automatically, he ran down a list of what he could have failed at, then caught himself. Jelda wasn't his responsibility. He could just walk away from her tart comment -- "I'm glad you made it for the second act, Major."

Automatically -- "You told me when to get here," he still excused himself.

Damn.

"It started early," Bonstable spoke over his wife's glare. "We only got here a half-hour ago."

Jelda turned back to the circus where several Bothans were doing impossible acrobatics. 

"Have a seat," the general said amicably. He pointed to the one on the other side of his wife. "This show really is amazing."

Madine stepped to Jelda's far side and sank onto the wide padded seat. She ignored him as he looked around the theater. The old round Opera theater was only half-full. Madine remembered seeing holos of it in the old days, before the Empire, when the audience overflowed with the elite of Coruscant, business makers, ambassadors, senators with guests to impress at exclusive events. 

He jumped at Jelda's rap on his hand. "Mon Mothma's over there," his ex-wife pointed at a box visible to the left of the curve on their side of the theater but up two levels. "Do you want to talk to her?"

Madine eyed Jelda suspiciously. She was being unduly helpful. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm trying to help you, Crix!" Jelda cast her gaze up to the roof where two Bothans were currently spinning. "Move a little more into the light," she added, nudging him ever so slightly with her elbow, "and you might catch her attention."

And your friends will see that the Emperor's visitor is in your box. Nice touch. Madine's inclination to protect Jelda was dying fast. She had her husband and his rank to shelter her. But I'll play along. He shifted forward so he could be seen more clearly, and looked up. 

Mon Mothma was leaning forward on the box rail, her chin resting on one hand, her lips curled in a slight smile. He knew that smile. Whatever worries she had, she wasn't thinking of them now, but was enjoying this moment of time. Usually she was so controlled, so seemingly cold, that this was a rare expression on her face. 

There was a rustle beside Madine and up above, Mon Mothma jumped as if something had startled her.

Jelda had activated her comlink. She must have called the other woman. 

Mon Mothma glanced around, looked down at the front of her box and spotted Madine. She smiled, delighted, and raised her hand. 

Despite knowing what he was going to do, Madine couldn't resist that smile. He returned it. 

She beckoned. 

He nodded sank back into the shadow, and looked past Jelda to his host. "Please excuse me, General."

Bonstable smiled at him. "Leaving already? It was good to see you, Madine. Made my wife happy. Didn't mind myself."

And that's all that has ever matter to you, isn't it? Madine thought watching the man's face as he saluted. Making her happy. Bonstable really was in love with his wife. "It was very good to see you both again, after all these years. Jelda..." he hesitated. What to say next?

She waved her hand dismissively. "Goodbye."

He smiled. He'd served her purposes. "Goodbye."

It didn't take long to walk upstairs, to Mon Mothma awaiting him with a wide smile that said she was genuinely glad to see him. 

He slid onto the seat next to her, studying her face. She had on a different overdress than the one he'd seen in the Emperor's office -- he pushed away that thought. Her earrings glinted, catching the show's lights, as did the matching metal necklace now in sight. The blue and green were a beautiful contrast to her pale skin and dark hair. 

"How have you been, Crix?" she asked leaning forward, her voice low. 

"Why?" he asked, startled out of his appreciation.

"Because you're worried. I can read that look. I've seen it before." She sat back slightly, studying him. "What have they got you  
doing?"

"I can't tell you that, Mon Mothma," he laughed. "You know that." He looked up defensively looked up as a gymnast swung close to them. His hand went to where a gun would be, his instincts still attuned to war. 

She followed his glance. "Don't worry about him. He’s not attacking. But you're worried."

"Yes. I'll give you that much," he allowed. The performance ended and they applauded. 

Mon Mothma turned back to him. "Then tell me what you can. Come by tomorrow afternoon, and let's talk about it. Or the past. Or something else," she said, sliding her hand off the rail and laying her fingertips on his hand. "It's been too long, Crix. I miss talking to you."

Relief flowed through him. An invitation. What an easy way to reach her. "Yes," he agreed, "mid-afternoon, then. You're staying -- ?"

"At an apartment in the embassy complex," she finished for him. "Captain Typho," she nodded to the opposite corner where the stern figure of the bodyguard was hidden in the darkness, "is my escort here in the city."

"Captain," Madine acknowledged. The man nodded back stiffly. Well, Perrin didn't need trouble himself after all. Typho knew about the invitation, and would be smart enough to know that Madine was the killer. And then he'll come looking for me. Madine caught the  
error. No, Perrin's work is the pivot. Typho will find me through Perrin. 

Madine rested his arm on the back of her seat and leaned closer. "You won't need him," he suggested to Mon Mothma. 

Her lips curved. "You make it sound like an afternoon of illicit abandon," she teased. "Surely, you have other duties here on Coruscant?"

"Yes, which is why I'm coming in mid-afternoon," he complained. "Otherwise I'd end up spending the entire day in class!"

They both laughed over the reminder of his loyalties. Their flirting was unlikely to go any further; their differences ran too deep.

Still she smiled. "Whatever it is, forget about it tomorrow. Just come, spend the afternoon and we'll talk about everything but our work."

In answer, he took her right hand, turned it over, and softly placed a kiss in her palm. By her expression, he knew he'd startled her. This was a gesture used between them very rarely, and never examined too closely by either. Before she could ask more questions, he rose and left. 

Madine didn't return to the Bonstable box. He'd had enough of the social games among the elite of Coruscant. Now that the time and place were set, his plan was underway and he was at war. 

It was time to talk to Perrin. 

Outside the Opera, he found the sergeant watching the stream of vehicles floating above his head with an expression of interest. Madine hoped he wasn't thinking of how to disrupt them. One thing about being a Special Forces fighter, you never just casually surveyed anything. 

Perrin straightened to attention, as he approached. "Let's take a walk, sergeant."

Perrin fell in step beside him with some surprise. "Sir?" They made their way down the walkways into a speeder bay. The audible noise was loud enough as well allowing Perrin to venture another, "Sir?"

Madine hesitated, reluctant to make the final move. If Perrin weren't what he thought he was -- Hell, I'm dead anyway. He flicked on an electronic blocker knowing it would only be good for a minute or two before triggering alarms. "Sergeant, remember when I had you assigned to me after that mission on Peles?"

"Yes, sir."

"Were you surprised when that troop ship of rebel prisoners was hijacked on the way to the prison camp?"

"Sir?" Perrin asked his voice steady.

"I wasn't," Madine replied. "I saw you with a freighter captain who left just before the transport. He told the rebels where to intercept the troop ship.” 

"Are you accusing me of treason, sir?" Perrin asked, his stance wary and defensive. 

Madine hoped that Perrin would hear him out before trying to kill him. "I hope so, because that's the man I need now," he said honestly. "Are you a rebel?"

Perrin's gaze was level as he met Madine's eyes. "Not to the Alliance, sir."

Madine let his vast relief show. "That's what I assumed. Good. I hope you have some kind of escape plan from Coruscant, Sergeant, because you're probably going to need it."

"What?"

His voice was flat and hard. "Today, I was ordered to assassinate Senator -- former Senator -- Mon Mothma. The Emperor says she's a rebel leader. I don't know if she is or not -- but I’m not going to do it. I need your help to get her off planet."

Perrin gaped at him. "The Senator.. ah, Senator, former Senator... Mon Mothma... yes, sir."

"Do you have a safe ship that can take her off Coruscant?"

"Sir, the Emperor would know if you took her to the port -- "

"I know that!" Madine said explosively, and then caught himself. It wasn't Perrin's fault that Madine was wired so tight. "I have a plan to make him think she's dead -- or dying -- and to send her home, or let her go home. It's up to you to make sure her ship is intercepted, hijacked. Do you understand?"

"'Intercepted'?' Ah," Perrin said, his face showing enlightenment. "Nasty rebels out there."

"Exactly," Madine nodded. "Attacking a dying woman, etc. Mercy mission, you know the drill."

"The Emperor will discover she's alive soon enough." Perrin warned. "Then he'll execute you, sir."

Madine's smile was reckless. "Sergeant, how long do you think I'm going to survive after I assassinate her?"

Perrin knew what was going unsaid. Madine was already a dead man. "So what are you going to do about it? Staying alive, I mean."

"I plan to offer to escort the body back to Chandrila," Madine said with a shrug. "And if we're attacked in flight, I'll have to throw myself on the mercy of the rebels. But first, Typho. "

"Typho?" Perrin interrupted. "What about him?"

"Here's my plan."

 

Perrin dropped Madine back at the officer's quarters, and then returned the official speeder to the depot. He changed clothes, and headed out into the night to do his part. 

Madine's plan was as risky as any Perrin had ever heard and that went back quite a long ways. Still, it might work -- if everything went properly. 

He'd better go find his contact and set up some kind of transport. If the Rebellion loses Mon Mothma, we lose... what? Perrin didn't know. But he was pretty sure of her importance to his cause if only because the Emperor had ordered her death. 

He headed to the port, to secure passage, then to trawl the bars for Typho. And if he doesn't go through with this, we're sunk. If he's loyal to the Emperor, we're sunk. So, I'd better make this work. 

Entering the port environs, Perrin walked down hallways where 'droids clicked and whirled, guiding ships in, making sure each was provisioned. Each 'droid had a different job at this particular port, but he wasn't interested in them yet. He was after the Lannik, who repaired them, kept up on all the gossip, and in general was one of the finest of the Rebellion's informants. 

Every time Perrin visited Coruscant, he visited Angoslee in his repair shop. Right now, the Naboese hoped that Angoslee was still on their side. You never knew though it was a galactic maxim that Lanniks didn't change their minds after they made a decision. 

Angoslee's ears quivered as he looked up from the decapitated astro 'droid he was fixing. "I thought I recognized your walk," he said in the cracked tones that came of too dry vocal chords. "What do you want?"

"A 'droid for a woman from Chalactian," Perrin replied. "I haven't seen her in four months." That dated the code that he had, and he hoped that it would pass muster. If the Rebels had changed their codes, he hadn't been in a place to receive it. 

The Lannik studied him. His curled topknot was bright red and orange -- clan colors unrecognized by most of the people who met him but which marked him as a warrior caste. He balanced on the two false legs, the wounds that had crippled him and gotten him exiled from his clan and world. The only fighting he did now was with information. "A sensitive race, Naboo man. They see things, places. Can affect you humans badly. Make you think strange things."

"So I need something very special for protection," Perrin answered with a sense of relief. He'd passed muster. Now to get the information he needed. "Something from Chandrila."

The large ears wriggled in the Lannik version of surprise. "The grass-growers? Why there?"

"Got anyone who is headed out soon?"

Angoslee turned and ran his hand over a console. It flashed colors. "How soon?"

"Tomorrow or the next day. I want someone very trustworthy, very careful. You have to be careful about the Rebels, you know, raiding the jump points. My cargo is very important to me."

"There's a ship going out in the next two days," Angoslee read the colors. "Corellian transport ship, the SUN RAIDER."

"Corellian..." Perrin said, considering that. "Trustworthy?"

"For a good price, like all Corellians."

"How good?"

Angoslee studied him for a second. "Reasonable prices depending on the cargo. Been carrying cargo for the major systems since Uttor," he corrected himself, "for several standard years. Got caught by the Rebels once or twice but they let the SUN RAIDER go. Esch was hired to take the Alderaani out to the relocation worlds, but was intercepted. Lost his cargo."

The Rebels took off the prisoners. I wonder what the ship was called then? "Where is he?" Perrin asked. 

"Hanger 204ae," the Lannik replied, passing his hand over the console. "I'll tell him you're coming."

That could be bad or good. "Thanks. I'll head down there."

"Good honest Corellians," Angoslee said with finality. "Used them myself to send supplies to Lannik."

That was a seal of approval that Perrin hadn't expected but was grateful to hear. Angoslee trusted Esch. "Then I'll ask them if they can do this for me."

Angoslee raised his hand. "Good travels."

 

An hour or so later, Madine left the building dressed in comfortable clothes, black boots and jacket. He was only an officer out to see the town. Nothing special about that. 

He directed the air taxi towards the down-space sector. Releasing the cab, he grabbed another, which he stopped at a down-at-the-heels rental facility where he rented his own speeder for credits that couldn't be traced, and headed for the Corellian sector. He knew it well from earlier trips, even before he went to the Imperial Academy. 

Coruscant has become even more of a cesspit than it was under the Republic. Good, Madine thought, I can find what I need easily. 

The first drug he wanted was legal. Most Corellians could tolerate, even enjoy the mellowing effects; Chandrilan tolerated only small amounts.

He would need a second drug compound, an antidote, which was rarely found on this planet. 

It didn't take long to track down a pharma district kiosk. The goods sat neatly in a vending machine with a 'droid keeping watch for miscreants who might try to break in. A moment to locate what he wanted in the array, another to pay, and he had the first drug.  
Madine was heading deeper into the level where the colors and lights were not so pleasantly bright. 

He found the second drug at the shop of a Chevin. The pachydermoid sat in the shadows behind his machine, his eyes scanning the clientele, watching for danger, his long nose testing the air for subtle signs of the same. Addicts from races across the galaxy shambled up, held out purloined credits, got their drugs and disappeared into the pervasive darkness. 

"Death sticks?" the vendor asked, eying Madine's healthy tone. "I have a fresh stock. You could stand the effects."

"Cathani," Madine kept his tone cold and harsh. "You have it here?"

The Chevin nodded. "Expensive."

"Rare -- at least here," Madine replied. "Let's do business."

"Fifty credits."

"Thirty-five."

"Fifty. As you say -- rare."

"Not so that I can't find it anywhere else. Forty," Madine added, "and it had better be legit graded and labeled."

The vendor eyed him, curiosity shining in the large eyes. "Legitimate goods? You don't trust -- ?"

"Forty and now."

"Deal."

Madine held out the credits. The Chevin waved to one side, and Madine dropped them into a bowl that sucked them down. A  
second later, a vial came up, sealed and labeled. 

Madine picked it up, surveying it to see the proper marks -- yes, it had probably been stolen from some Imperial pharmacy. He would check later to make sure. He tucked it in his pocket. 

"Why do you need it?" the Chevin asked suddenly.

"Not your business," Madine answered grimly. He had no doubt that a report of this transaction would go in the Imperial files if the vendor knew what was good for him. Go ahead, he mentally urged. Report me, file the vid and see what you get for it. 

"Good selling," he added in a disinterested voice, and left. 

 

Another smoky bar. This was the third one. Perrin looked around, thinking, If I don't find Typho, this trip was a huge waste of credit. He'd gone into the first two unlikely establishments not to find the bodyguard there but to practice what he was going would say when he did. He still wasn't sure. 

He ordered the commonest fruit ale, then took it to one side from where he could scan the room. 

He'd been told often enough that Typho didn't act like a man half-blind despite the eye patch. The man kept track about the community and sometimes acted, scaring miscreants. So while some Naboese expatriates mocked him behind his back, no one said anything disrespectful to his face. He was a grim figure from another time.

Perrin didn't care what it was that kept Typho on Coruscant, but he did care that he might trip over that unknown fact and that the stumble would prevent him from doing his job. 

He finally spotted the man in an upper booth on the left. A scantily clad Twi'lik waitress was handing him a tankard of something with a green foamy top. Typho leaned back against the scruffy plastic cushions, sipping as he watched the crowd. 

There was nothing else to do but go over and accost him. Perrin wove his way through the busy tables and climbed the stairs to that level. 

From Typho's expression, he'd been watching the Perrin's progress in return. Perrin met a hostile glare with a hopeful smile. 

""'Etoian!" The typical Naboese greeting brought a raised eyebrow. “Company?" He slid into the other side of the booth. 

Typho picked up the tankard and sipped on the foam. "What do you want?"

Sea soda? That's pretty mild. Perrin could smell the tang as the foam bubbles crackled and popped. "I was told you've been on Coruscant for decades," Perrin said frankly. This was a man who, it was also said, appreciated straight talk. "Back in the days of the Separatists."

Typho hunched a shoulder. "So what?"

"I'm curious what it was like," Perrin replied. "My officer, Major Madine, says it was -- "

"Madine?" Typho cut him off. The granite face showed a spark of curiosity. "Fleet officer?"

"Special Forces military," Perrin corrected. He'd drawn first blood. But how did Typho know about Madine? "Said he was here just after the declaration of Empire and it felt different back then. He's mentioned it more than once so I've been wanting to ask someone about it. Most of these people," he waved his hand to the now densely packed dance floor, "are too young."

"So are you." The man was abrupt. Then he added, "Your major's a boy compared with me. Tell me about him."

Perrin was startled by the request. Why is he looking for info from me? Could be for the best. "He's... he demands a lot," Perrin started awkwardly. He'd never thought of describing Madine before. "Doesn't leave people behind. Tries to run a honest... I'd be dead if Madine hadn't pulled me and a buddy out of Lannik."

"What happened?"

"Officer offended the local warlord. Arrogant bastard did it on purpose too. We were besieged -- the officer was killed in the first attack. We put up the shields but it didn't last. The major led the team that pulled us out before the army came down -- ."

"I heard about that," Typho nodded. "Didn't some mouthpiece say it'd take a century to rebuild the Lannik cities?"

"That was the army, not my boss," Perrin said in as neutral a tone as he could muster. "General Veers believes in shows of force." 

"Humph." 

The whole aftermath had made Perrin doubt his future in the Imperial forces. He didn't know what brought the major down that day, Madine never said. But he didn't even bother trying to find the officer. He seemed to know that they were dead even before he arrived. 

Perrin remembered it all clearly. He pulled us out alive, me and Wirwooth, then had us assigned to his squad. Wish Wirwooth hadn't committed suicide last year. I miss him. Perrin dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. 

Typho looked thoughtful for a second, then his face went impassive. "Not a soft man then."

"Not at all. Unless he chooses to be," Perrin hesitated. "I've seen him do kind things. Overlook things other officers just crucify you on. Not soft but... honest. He almost had the warlords calmed down before Veers -- "

"You're one of his men then?" Typho shifted to study Perrin's face. "One of his troop."

"Yep. He's my current officer," Perrin repeated. "But when I'm here, and off-duty, I go mostly to the Falling Salt," Perrin named a semi-respectable Naboo brothel where he knew there was a modicum of privacy about who visited there. At least there had been the last time he visited -- he'd better check that again.

Typho laughed, which was good, but then he startled Perrin by asking, "And do you take your Major there to enjoy its comforts?"

"Oh no," Perrin shook his head vehemently. "Nothing like that for him. I dunno where he gets his, -- he's Corellian. Me, I like the clean action at the Salt."

"Huh," Typho grunted, his gaze going back to the floor. He didn't say anything for longer than Perrin cared, but after the music took on a quieter beat, Typho wet his lips on the foam, and began, "So you want to know about Coruscant back then?"

Perrin recognized the signs of garrulousness familiar to old military men and resigned himself to hours of listening to old war stories.

At least he'd completed his mission. If all went well, when Typho came looking for Perrin, and by extension Madine, he'd start with the Falling Salt.


	2. An intricate game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrying out the Emperor's orders will lead to a life-changing decision for Crix Madine

The next day Madine spent most of the morning doing what he'd actually come to Coruscant to do: lecturing. After speaking to several classes at the Imperial academy, he lunched with Captain Allorn and several other officers. He didn't find their discussion of incestuous politics among the garrison very interesting but it was something to fill the time, and, an opportunity to make it clear that he had plans for the afternoon that superseded anything Allorn might suggest. 

He was also amused to find that his rank and experience was not necessarily considered important on Coruscant. He suspected that Allorn wouldn't last a few hours in real combat. A native. How rare. Coruscant didn't have many of them. He knew that the man had family among some of the higher social levels, which was probably why he was still here. Maybe he was smarter than he sounded but Madine would lay a year's salary that there were credits involved in his promotions. 

Finally escaping the extended lunch, Madine returned to his room to finish the supporting materials for his lectures. He ran his hand over the buttons and his work was stored. 

Nonchalantly, he checked his banking record and noted that it was fairly well-stocked. Well, usually his needs were small, so his savings piled up. How to get them out if he needed them -- that was a problem. Giving the Emperor any idea that he might be thinking of being anything but a loyal officer would get him killed before his job was done. 

The Emperor chose me to do this over everyone else because I'm her friend. If I don't, he'll have me killed, her killed and probably her family killed -- not that there are many left. If I had killed her, life goes on the way it has for the last two decades for all the rest of us. 

Madine admitted that he knew that she had resisted the Imperial orbit and always had. Likewise her friend, Prince Organa. And see what happened there, Mothma. The family is dead, all but that young princess, Leia. His thoughts turned abruptly down that stream. 

There's one who is Bail's. What did that report on her say? That she'd helped destroy the Death Star? That she'd escaped Vader?

His mind shied away from Darth Vader. He'd worked under the man's command and been appalled by his sheer brutality at any sign of resistance to the Empire. He knew that Vader would, in a split second, do the job of killing Mon Mothma, and be totally unaffected. What was one more death to Vader? 

The Emperor chose me for this murder because I am her friend. That's sadistic. It matches anything that Vader does. The men at the top are warped. 

I won’t let them win. 

He glanced again at the timer on the dresser. It was time to dress and go to his afternoon appointment.

 

Mon Mothma checked the chrono on the dressing table. She knew what 'mid-afternoon' meant to both of them, and she didn't have much time left before Madine arrived. 

As she had the day before, she’d spent the morning visiting at various agencies discussing the newest regulations coming out of Coruscant. More regulation meant less trade as fewer planets would be willing to deal with the red tape. Her insights went nowhere. 

Returning an hour ago, she gave orders to her 'droid to prepare some food and start the music, and retreated to her room to shower. Now, wrapped in her dressing gown, she put a little perfume on her hands, and ran them through her hair, before brushing it into the new style she'd taken up for this trip, then added a little make-up. 

Mothma looked in the mirror and laughed to herself. Such a long time since she'd dressed this carefully for anyone. Nothing like an old friend, and a man, to bring out a side of herself that she mostly restrained. She seldom relaxed unless she was among trusted friends. 

I wish he was with us.

What a wistful thought. Madine had shown some signs of not being Imperial to his core -- she'd heard about his looking the other way with the prisoners -- but he was still too much of a loyal Imperial officer.

I'll just have to keep working on bringing him to realize that the Alliance is where he belongs. And we could use someone like him to train our Special Forces -- then we wouldn't lose so many of them. Despite our differences, he's always fun to see. I wonder what he really thinks of me? She smiled. I wonder if he ever thinks of our meeting on the balcony on Alderaan? 

She’d laid out two outfits on the bed. One was severely white, stiff with rich embroidery with a high neck. She glanced at the lomar jewelry on her dresser, and then back at the dress. 

The other choice was a silver pantsuit with a dipped neckline, decorated with lilac blossoms that went well with her dark hair. The necklace and earrings would show on her pale skin. But the outfit was considerably more informal than the white.

What do I want him to see? Which should it be today -- the personal or the professional? She cast off her dressing gown and began to dress. 

 

Mothma was slightly startled to see he wasn't wearing his uniform. The officer still showed through -- the leather jacket and boots were polished to a fine sheen, and the shirt was crisp. And no cap. Despite twenty years, he still looked like the young man who'd saved her life the night of the Purge. The same handsome young man, something she'd avoided considering until that last night on Alderaan.

"Crix! I've been waiting for you."

Standing just inside the apartment entry, Madine returned her smile with a grin. "I'm on time." 

She saw Captain Typho slip out the door. She wasn't sure when he'd be back but, now one thing she knew -- he was discreet. And should I need that today? She laughed at her own ambivalence and explained, "I was so looking forward to your arrival, I've been as restless as a trembler plant. Come inside."

He followed her into the spacious living room. 

She eyed the ornate cloth bag in his hand. "What's that?" 

"Mercio's finest, of course." He held it out.

She turned over the crystal bottle in her hands, admiring the pale green blossoms in the bluish alcohol inside. "I didn't know you remembered what I liked. It's lovely," she murmured. A 'droid came in with a plate of small tidbits. "Yes, G3-10, put that down and -- ."

"I'll open it," Madine cut in. "Get two glasses," he ordered the 'droid which put down the plate and rolled away. Madine turned the bottom of the bottle to start the built-in chilling device that would cool the wine.

Mothma studied him as she sat back on the couch. "Well, what are you up to? In a general way, of course."

He sat on the other couch, his expression guarded. "Probably Peles again."

"Again? Not again!" Even we can't keep Peles quiet, she thought with a touch of impatience. I wish the Alliance could get them to put their endless rivalries on hold long enough to win this war.

"Tell them to stop complaining about each other." Madine said exasperated, almost as if he read her mind. She hadn't realized how unusually tense he was until he ran a hand through his hair. Instantly the precise hair style dissolved. "Every time one complains, the commander gets upset and the fleet blows up the others' compound. I don't think anyone bothers investigating if the complaint's true, they just blow them up."

"That's sloppy work," she criticized. "What if no one is guilty?"

He shrugged, surveying the tray of tidbits on the table before swooping on a selected one. "After being there twice, I think it's actually the Pelesian version of urban renewal. They don't want to do the work to tear down the buildings when our ships can do it so much faster." 

She stared at him. Something's wrong, something more than Peles. He barely looked at what he just ate. "Really?"

"We find a lot fewer bodies than we should." Another bite, this one of cheese, another quick swallow. "Most of them -- well, there aren't a lot of prisoners in Pelesian prisons, I've noticed. I think they flood the designated areas with bodies before we bomb. Still -- it's just a theory.” 

The ‘droid put two slender goblets on the table next to the wine before leaving the room again. 

"What do they build?" she asked intrigued despite her worry. 

"Construction material. They've been supplying the Rebels. We’ve found their ferro-cement on Rebel bases." He picked up the bottle and triggering the cap. The pleasant smell of wine wafted through the room. "So, I'm here trying to explain to the new Academy officers how to tell what is really a rebel attack and what is just natives asking for help against their neighbors."

She shook her head. "I shouldn't find that funny, but I had too many years in the Senate and even we couldn't tell who was fighting whom half the time."

"And you had gridlock most of the time. Until the Separatists -- "

"Yes," she interrupted. "The Separatist threat brought us all together. And when they attacked Coruscant, they brought on the   
Empire." And the death of the Jedi and too many of others. 

"Have you seen the latest about the rebels?" he asked waving a free hand at the non-active holo display. "The troops have found their latest base."

"Really?" She wondered what he was up to. Why bring up the Rebellion when he knows we'll disagree. What is wrong with you, Crix?

"Yes. I saw a trace of it on the HoloNews before I came in."

"I suppose I should be interested, shouldn't I?" She waved her hand, and the holoscreen came up. Breathless broadcasters showed visuals of the Star Destroyers and Stormtroops, promising more information shortly. 

Both watched for a moment but there was nothing on the rebellion. She muted the sound. "Maybe later." 

He still held the wine. Now he rolled the bottle between his palms, stirring the contents. Carefully, he poured two glasses of liquid. He gave her one and took the other. 

She toasted him. "To old friendships."

"To you," he replied simply, sipping on the liquid.

The quality of the liquor took her by surprise and muted her astonishment at his words. She'd wager he'd spent a month's wages on the exquisite wine. Such a creamy aftertaste. She took another longer sip then leaned forward. It was time to confront what was going on here. 

"What in all the Galaxy has gotten into you, Crix?" she asked. "I'm honored but it's not necessary. You've got a problem? What is it?"

Madine smiled again. 

That expression she recognized. He's trying to hide something; that smile's fake. "I appreciate you more when I compare you with my wife," he said with a slight edge. 

"Oh." Jelda. I might have known. This is all about Jelda and not about the Rebellion. She relaxed back on the cushions and sipped on her wine. "Well, she's always been a social -- "

"Oh, let's not beat around it. She's got the social graces of a mynock when she wants something," he cut in, grimacing. "I was very young when I married her."

"She did allow you to escape safely," Mon Mothma observed, adding wryly, "She's a social hub here on Coruscant and would make an excellent spy if anyone could meet her price. Why did you go to the Opera with her?"

"She invited me. I was interested in the Bothan circus."

"Oh, please. I bet you didn't know they existed before last night," she teased. She held out her glass and he poured more wine into it. 

"You're right!" he laughed. Picking up his own glass, he toasted her again. She nodded graciously and they drank. "I learned fast that it wasn't something I liked." 

He was already looking more relaxed. She hadn't realized that he was so easily affected by alcohol. He never had been before. It must be the good vintage. She took another sip and rolled the taste in her mouth. Delightful. 

He cocked his head. "Isn't that music -- 

"Do you remember it?" 

"Yes. You taught me to dance -- "

"The other way around," she disputed. "I hadn't known the Empire taught you to do such things."

"Oh, I learned that in the Corellian Navy before the consolidation," he said. "I like to dance, remember? It teaches you precision and balance. The Empire gives a basic course for the diplomatic service. I took it."

She sighed. "I wish they taught it to everyone now."

"The curriculum's changed now," he acknowledged. He ran a finger around the edge of his glass. It sang a single note. “It’s mostly about governing.”

"You're in control," she said, hearing an unexpected edge in her tone. Calm down now. "The Mon Calamari aren't too pleased at being regarded as second-class especially since they're one of the oldest races in the galaxy."

"If they get out of hand, the Fleet will put some more blasts into their oceans and cook some more of their cites," he retorted, sitting upright. He randomly picked up another tidbit and ate it in one bite. 

"That was a crime," she said quietly. "Millions died."

"Billions died on Alderaan," he said harshly, meeting her gaze. "Including Prince Bail and his family."

I remember. But why bring up that tragedy? Is he thinking of the Summer Palace? Something's deeply wrong and it's not Jelda. For a second she felt a pang of fear, then smothered it. For all their differences -- she'd known him too long. Crix wouldn't hurt her. 

"There is still one Organa left -- "

"As part of the Rebellion. Do you know what happened to the rest of the Alderaani?" he asked. "The Empire relocated them -- "

"Whomever they caught," she replied sharply. "Many escaped to the rebels -- I heard many joined the rebels."

They stared at each other for a second, the matter of the rebellion going unsaid.

This wasn't good. She stood up. "Come," she commanded.

"Come?" 

"Dance with me. Like we did on Bail's veranda on Alderaan."

"Remember how that dance ended?" he said, reluctantly standing. 

"We never had a chance to get to the end," she countered. She held her arms spread out the width of her body, her palms held vertical. "The dance officially ends with a kiss."

He laughed, the tension easing out of him. "You wouldn't believe how many officers hated to play 'the woman' when we learned this dance," he confided. "It always ended a few steps early."

She echoed his laughter. They placed their palms together and swayed to the right, then two steps back for him, forward for her, then to the left. His hand went to the small of her back as she turned, a warm support for the next intricate turn. He released her, and she swirled, then they faced each other again, palm to palm. 

Following the music, they danced around the room, through the afternoon sunlight. 

The HoloNews had changed, she noted on one turn. Silently, it was showing an attack, a big one in the snow. Oh, Gods, they've found the main base! 

She faltered, and landed on his foot. "Hey!" She hastily took the proper step and then another trying to catch up. 

Another twirl took her to face the screen and she stopped, their palms still connected, her attention on the news story. She felt his fingers curled over hers, holding her hands prisoner, and she looked at him in surprise. "Crix...?" 

With a gulp, then a jolt, she felt her balance start to go. She swayed back and forward slightly, tasting the creaminess of the wine come back up then down again, leaving an acid taste in her throat. What's...what's going on? She looked up into his cold blue eyes. His face was set with the formality that she'd always associated with Imperial enforcers. Rigidly, he held her upright. 

"The Emperor has ordered your execution, Senator Mon Mothma," he said, his voice making the snows now being shown on the holoscreen seem warm, "as a rebel against the Empire."

Shock went through her, then a surge of anger. She couldn't move, free her hands, do anything. Her limbs were going numb. So this was what you were hiding, Crix, you bastard. You've murdered me. Her head drooped. She was going to pass out, she knew. "Why...you?" she whispered.

"Because I'm your friend." 

Collapsing, her last memories were the smell of polish on the slick leather and the warmth of his breath on her hair. 

 

**The Senator is dying.**

The message transmitted to Captain Typho's wristcom from the Chandrilian kitchen 'droid sent him flying back to the apartment. At its entry, he slammed his palm against the lock and barreled through the opening, scraping his arm. 

He held his weapon ready as he ran into the living room. Mon Mothma lay on the couch, the holoscreen flickering in front of her. 

Gritting his teeth, Typho checked the other rooms before going to the fallen woman's side. They were the only two people in the apartment -- him and her. He holstered the blaster. 

She was cool but not cold. A faint pulse showed in her neck. Between her parted lips, he could smell the wine from the corked bottle nearby. He stood, flicked open his communicator and called for medical aid from the official aide-de-camp at the Chandrilian embassy to report what he found. 

During the several minutes it took to locate the official, he went into the bedroom and pulled the light cover from her bed. He returned to her side to lay the warming cloth over her. 

After reporting, Typho stood and surveyed the room, trying to see beyond his intense fury. 

He spotted the serving 'droid standing near the kitchen door. "Come here," he roared. His anger was over more than just the immediate scene, it came from deep within him, out of the past. "What did you see? What?"

The small 'droid whistled and tooted, and Typho's wrist bracelet translated. Madine told it to call the captain.   
That goddamn bastard! I'm going to kill him... wait a minute. Typho's anger stuttered with confusion. Why call me if he's murdered her? I would have known it was him. 

A small injector on the side table beside the goblet caught his attention, and he flicked it over with one of the two-pronged folks on the tidbits platter. Used, yes, he could see traces of skin in the mesh. The poison?

He looked carefully at the bottle and saw nothing that was not normal about it. The wine in the glasses smelled like her breath. They'd been drinking.

"The internal vidcams," he murmured. "I can review them -- "

The sound of the door chimes stopped him. Medical aid had come. 

Opening the apartment, Typho was unsettled to see that along with the Chandrilian ambassador, Newlish, his medical 'droid and two aides, stood a Imperial Forces emergency 'droid, accompanied by an officer and several Stormtroopers. 

An officer who wore the markings of the Coruscant garrison. 

Something is going on here that I don't understand. Typho's anger stepped aside, waited in a cold fury that wouldn't block his thinking. What the hell is going on here? 

"I am Captain Medra," the officer announced. "The Emperor is aware of the Senator's illness and has sent his assistance."

How would the Emperor know?

"That won't be necessary," the Ambassador cut him off. "Chandrila is honored by the Empire's attention," he nodded politely as he stepped in front of the officer and Stormtroopers, "but our own medical 'droid is perfectly capable of helping our Representative."

Typho had to admire the gangly Ambassador. It took courage to turn down anything that invoked the Emperor, but Newlish was doing it with resolve. 

The officer's face flushed in anger. "I'm here on orders -- "

"This apartment is officially part of the Embassy," Newlish replied firmly, staring down at him. "Your assistance is not needed."

The two med 'droids had moved past the small cluster of humans without acknowledging their disagreement. Their programming was to ignore the healthy for the sick and so they did.

Coming up to Mon Mothma, the Imperial 'droid plucked back the blanket tossing it to one side. It bent over, its scanner outstretched.

"Stop!" Typho had caught the movement in his peripheral vision and now he moved quickly, shoving the med-droid back. He stepped between the woman and the machine. He wasn't sure what the 'droid was doing but his instincts told him to not let it touch her.   
"Get out," he ordered. "The ambassador has ordered you out."

Medra glared at Typho. "I can't believe," he burst out, "that you'd reject our help!"

Newlish between him and the officer. "Our med 'droid is more accustomed to the health of Chandrillians. Please leave."

The Imperial droid's lights flashed as it turned towards the officer. "She is dying," it reported in a monotone.

Medra's wristcom flashed. Obedient to its unspoken orders, he turned on his heel, and stalked out of the apartment. The 'droid followed him and the Stormtroopers, the clashing sound of their armor echoing off the walls of the room, until cut off by the closing door. 

"What's going on?" the Ambassador said sharply looking at Typho. "What's wrong with her? What happened, Captain?"

"I don't know," Typho confessed in a calm, controlled voice. He put the blanket over her again. "She had a guest, an Imperial major named Madine. An old friend. He sent me a message that she was dying. I was going to check the internal cams when you arrived."

"Do so," Newlish looked at the fallen woman. "Kero, assist the med-droid. Baja, silence that holoscreen!"

The young aide, Baja, scurried to do so, her face pale. Typho thought she had to be only a few years out of school, all long legs, big eyes, slight body encased in the stiffly embroidered ambassadorial uniform. This was probably her first assignment off Chandrila. What an introduction to diplomatic life. 

Typho went into the study and tapped in his security code for the apartment surveillance monitors. He was shaken when the system took several seconds to respond. That had never happened before. 

Did Madine fiddle with these while she was dying behind him? I'm going to rip his heart out! 

Then, up came the menu, and Typho tapped on the one timed right after he left. 

The file was empty. 

He stared at it aghast, then tapped the next in sequence. 

Empty. 

He went to the one timed immediately before he got the 'droid's message and saw something that made him doubt his sanity. 

Mon Mothma stood in front of the holoscreen, her hand over her mouth. Her dress was torn from the way one sleeve sagged. On the HoloScreen was the same battle he'd seen earlier. She turned around, drained the last of her wine, and picked up the small injector. Placing it over the vein in her elbow, she activated it. 

She collapsed on the couch, the injector falling from her fingers.

All of Typho's training rejected what he was seeing. _That's wrong. That's all wrong. The injector was on the table. She's not lying like that on the couch. Madine’s not there. This is faked. How'd he do it? Why'd he do it?_

"Captain?" the Ambassador called. Typho quickly stored the report. The tall man came to the open doorway. "Anything?"

"No, sir," Typho lied. "Nothing that will help."

"What about that major? Would he be able to tell us what's gone on?" 

"I'll ask him," Typho said, thinking of the night before when Madine's man had sought Typho out, making it clear where he was going to be the next night. 

_There's a plan here._

With confidence, he told Newlish. "I'll find him. How is she?"

"Dying. The Emperor's med-droid was right. Ours says she's stable but probably in a day, she'll be gone." Newlish paused. "Why would she do this?"

"She may have had help," Typho replied.

The Ambassador continued over him. "The holoscreen file showed her taking a injector drug. Why would she do that?"

Typho stared at him mystified, then felt an icy shiver go down his back. When he'd been watching the false file, it had also played on the holoscreen in the living room? That shouldn't happen. 

_Someone's infiltrated here. They're controlling the electronics. Nothing’s real._

"I'll find out, sir."

"I'm having my aides move her to the bedroom," the Ambassador told him. "I don't trust the Imperial hospital here, not after that officer showed up. If she's going to die, it will be in peace."

"Yes, sir," Typho replied. "Baja will be staying then?"

"Yes along with Kero. I’m leaving the 'droid as well. He can't quite analyze what the drug is. I didn't know Mothma knew poisons that well. Don't let anyone in here until we know what's going on, Captain!"

"I may have a lead," Typho said. "Once she's settled, I'll find out who did this. Kero can stand guard."

Newlish's usual mild expression was gone, replaced with one of frustration and anger. "Do so. This shouldn't have happened. She was one of our finest leaders."

"She still is. She's not dead." They both glanced at the cam that now showed an empty living room. "I have to go, sir."

The Ambassador nodded. "Find the truth."

 

Around Perrin, the Falling Salt started to fill with the usual denizens -- many races, mostly human -- making arrangements for the evening. Huge holoscreens lined the curving walkway that led upstairs to the private rooms. 

Perrin wasn't sure when Typho was going to show up, but he drank lightly just in case. That the man was going to come was obvious from the report on the HoloNews. A well-known ex-Senator commits suicide over... what? Or nearly does, Perrin corrected hastily. Even the media didn't say she was dead yet. Still, the speculation of her reason was rife, ranging from flirting with treason to a lover gone bad. The story ran on the offside of all the HoloNews reports about a massive Imperial victory on the snow planet of Hoth. Captured prisoners marched into Imperial transports -- Lord Vader chased rebels in his oversized Star Destroyer. All in all, another typical day of news, Perrin thought cynically. He suspected that there was an ounce of truth somewhere in it but right now, it didn't seem real. 

He didn't even hear Typho come up which was a tribute to the older man's training. One sudden moment Perrin felt a painful grip on his shoulder and a low voice in his ear say, "I want to talk to you!"

Perrin turned his head slightly to make sure of his man. Typho looked like he wanted to kill someone. "I know." Perrin abandoned his glass. "Let's go."

Typho followed Perrin up the curving walkway. In the reflective walls between openings, Perrin noticed that the bodyguard was armed. 

Stopping at the entry to a private room, he thumbed a door release and stepped inside, Typho on his heels, now holding the blaster pistol. 

The sour smell of vomit hanging in the perfumed air hit Perrin first. Typho slammed against him next as Madine hit the Captain hard from the side. The bodyguard staggered against Perrin who swiveled and grabbed for the man's pistol arm, as Madine hit Typho again. Typho gasped, groaned and crumpled, his weapon falling to the ground. 

Perrin kicked the blaster across the room. He yanked Typho on his face. Madine caught Typho's other arm and twisted it behind the man's back, pinning Typho to the ground by the weight of both Madine and Perrin. 

The door had shut automatically on a fight that hadn't taken but seconds. 

Typho struggled. Holding him firmly, Madine bent over him to whisper, "Listen carefully, Captain. The Emperor himself ordered me to kill Mon Mothma." 

Typho froze. "What--what did you do?"

"Poison in the wine. Don't let anyone drink it." Madine fumbled in his shirt pocket, and pulled out a three-snap injector set which he placed on the floor in front of Typho's face. "He wants her dead. I don't. It's up to you to keep her alive. There are three doses of antidote here. One you give to her tonight when you get back. Be very careful; the Emperor is watching."

"Watching?" Typho croaked. 

"Watching everything. Everywhere," Madine said with loathing. "He's been monitoring her ever since she landed." 

That news appalled Perrin. The invasion of privacy by someone on the level of the Emperor? He saw the same expression on Typho's face. Perrin also saw Madine gulp, turn his head, take a deep breath, and realized that he might end up being the only one holding Typho down in a few seconds -- and both of them bystanders to a vomiting fit.

Madine controlled himself with an effort. "Give her the second dose in twenty-four, twenty-six hours. Not before, and not too much after. She'll be sick after that -- throwing up and dizzy, miserable.. Twelve hours later, the last dose. That should totally counteract the drugs. It'll be a while until she's back like she was -- but she won't die. Unless you let her."

"Why... did he want... her to die?" Typho wheezed under their combined weight. 

"He said she was a rebel," Madine managed to say. "I want her off this planet, Typho. Out of his reach."

"You're going against the Emperor's direct orders, sir?" Perrin said aghast. He hadn't realized the order came from that high. 

"You've got guts," Typho admitted, grudgingly. "Let me up."

Madine nodded to Perrin and they leaned away, letting Typho roll over.

Madine stood, swayed, and then put his hand against the wall to stay upright. His face was pale. "It's up to you, Captain. Perrin'll tell you what to do next."

"What about you?" Typho asked, his gaze on the officer. "What happens to you?"

Madine's smile was cold. "What do you think?"

"Palpatine's a sadist," Typho said. "Anything that will make you -- that will cause some pain, he'll enjoy. Why don't you try to get assigned to escort her home -- he'll love that. Her murderer taking the body back -- "

"She's dead?" Perrin cut through Typho's sarcasm before Madine's control broke. "Is she dead?"

"Not yet," Typho replied, flicking him a glance. "Even Palpatine’s personal med-droid -- "

"What?" said Madine. 

"They showed up without warning. Officer named Medra -- "

"What happened?"

"You didn't expect it?" Typho was astonished. "Nothing happened. It said she was dying and was going to give her some medicine but I stopped it. Why'd you get the job, Major?"

Madine's smile was openly bitter. "Ask her. Ask her what was the last thing I told her." He pointed at the injectors, which lay on the floor beside Typho's shoulder. "It's up to you now... or are you going to go through the rest of your life being the brave bodyguard who lost two Senators?"

Typho's eyes widened then narrowed. "You bastard!"

Perrin glanced at his officer for an explanation, but Madine shrugged, unaffected by the curse. He slammed a hand on the door lock and it opened. Just slightly unsteady, Madine stepped outside and the door slid shut, nearly grazing the man's back. 

The room was silent except for the occasional puff of perfumed air as the clarifiers tried to get rid of the sour smell. 

Finally, Typho sat up, his gaze going to the injectors. "That stinking bastard," he repeated, this time almost reflectively. 

Perrin wasn't sure if he referred to Madine's statement or to what Madine had done to Mon Mothma. As for what that last remark was about, he wasn't sure but the shot had taken the energy out of Typho. 

After a few seconds, Typho looked up at him. "There's a plan?"

"Yeah. Are you going to save her?"

With a bitter smile, Typho swept up to the injectors. He stowed them in an inner pocket. "After his last comment? I'd better. Your major knows too much about me."

Perrin nodded to emphasize Madine's upper hand, still puzzled but glad the man had decided to go along. He'd hate to have killed such a wonderful storyteller when there clearly was more to the tales he told. "Then we'll go to the port and talk to the captain of the SUN RAIDER," he said, leaning back on a table that fronted one of the room's many mirrors. 

Typho frowned. "You knew this would happen this way?"

"Major Madine doesn't leave much to chance. The RAIDER's captain -- his name is Esch -- will take you to Chandrila."

"And what happens when the Emperor finds out she's alive?" Typho said harshly. "He'll just kill her there."

Perrin eyed him, judging what to say next. Well, it's all a risk, he thought. "She won't get there. The ship will drop her with the Rebellion on the way."

Typho's jaw dropped open. "Then what the major said was true."

"What the Emperor said was true," Perrin corrected. "Once she's out of his reach -- well, the rebels are crushed anyway if you listen to HoloNews -- " 

Typho made a dismissive gesture. 

" -- And we all die, Captain."

"But it's good if it's not too soon." Typho grunted as he got to his feet. He straightened his clothing, wincing as he reached behind. He added, "He's going to die as well, you know."

Perrin nodded. "I don't see the Emperor leaving him alive."

"And he's saving her," Typho grew thoughtful. "You said he was a loyal man."

"He chooses his loyalties carefully," Perrin said. "No one likes to murder of an innocent woman."

"That matters to you? She’s a rebel."

"I believe in him," Perrin insisted, stepping away from the table. "The SUN RAIDER will stop, she'll be transferred, and then you go on to Chandrila."

Typho laughed. "That would be convenient if she died on the trip, wouldn't it? A closed casket -- "

"Sealed. It'll give you a little extra time to vanish," Perrin concluded. "The Emperor isn't going to forget your part in this."

Typho snorted. "If he can find me. I know more about the underworld of this planet than a thousand Emperors. I know where there's a lightsaber hidden, one with a purple blade. I hear the Emperor collects them but not this one. Forget about it. Palpatine won't find me if I hide."

"Stay on Chandrila. Go back to Naboo," Perrin urged, suddenly feeling a pang of sympathy for the man opposite him. "If you come back here -- "

"I can help you more here," Typho said in finality. "Help your rebellion. The Emperor's done too much damage. It's time for a fight."

They stared at each other for a second, feeling each other's resolve, and then Typho broke away. He looked around a gaudy room obviously made for temporary layovers. "I'd better get back."

"Before the room rent here wears out," Perrin murmured. "I'm glad you finally made it in time."

"You told me where to go," Typho spotted his weapon across the room. Perrin retrieved the blaster and handed it back. "Let's make the rest of the plan work, Sergeant."

"Yeah."

Typho added, "Her murder'll look good inscribed on his box of ashes as a job well done."

Perrin winced. "I'll take you to meet Esch. You'll have to talk the Ambassador into taking his ship."

"Perrin, leave it to me."

 

Madine barely made it back to the officer's quarters. He'd lost what little was left in his stomach right outside the door, to the dismay of the Falling Salt's cleaning 'droids, and used one of the small fountains to clean up his face. 

His mouth still tasted as foul as his temper. 

Switching on HoloNews, he found nothing had changed. The Senator was still in a coma, rumors were rife and he had a message from Jelda to call her. 

Determined to get rid of the taste of wine and vomit, he rinsed out his mouth then brushed his teeth. 

That felt a little better. In his bedroom, he started to strip but with just his black jacket in his hand, he paused, remembering the minute when she collapsed against him. He'd shifted quickly so she hadn't landed on the carpet, and laid her back easily on the couch. 

He'd shown no emotion, not for a moment, knowing that the entire incident had probably -- was probably -- being watched by the Emperor. He could almost hear that eerie laugh as Madine injected her with what the Emperor didn’t know was the first dose of antidote.

Running his fingers over the jacket's fasteners, he thought he felt a hair. No, nothing. Not even the perfume she'd worn. The smells of the Falling Salt were all over him, drowning out any trace left of her scent. 

Discarding the jacket, Madine pulled off the rest of his clothing and took a shower, scrubbing to get the odor out of his skin. 

When he had toweled dry, pulled on shorts and a shirt, he sat down in front of the communicator. 

There were now three messages, all from the same number. "She won't let me sleep," he muttered, not wanting to answer but knowing that she'd just call back. Jelda was nothing if not persistent. 

He keyed open a channel and waited for her to pick up. 

She must have been sitting by it because her hologram came up in a flash. "Crix, you finally called me back!"

"What do you want?" he said suddenly realizing that he was far more tired than he thought. He should have put this call off and blocked the rest of the night's interruptions.

From her expression of appreciation, she noted his undress. "Mon Mothma. The news is full of it. Did you go see her?"

"Full of what?" 

"That she's committed suicide! No one knows why but... you went and saw her didn't you, last night? Or --" her expression was alight with avid curiosity. "Or today, Crix? Did you see her today?"

"Jelda," he said in a growl. What should he say? "I saw her. We talked, drank some wine. She was alive when I left."

"But what did you talk about?" Jelda demanded. 

Before he didn't tell her what was none of her business, he realized that here was a way of spreading gossip that the Emperor couldn't control. Jelda couldn't keep a secret even if her life depended on it -- well, maybe then, but even that wasn't sure. "The past," he said. "What she was doing here for Chandrila. Old friends talk."

Jelda looked disappointed. "Nothing about why she'd kill herself? I mean the holo that I saw -- her drinking the wine-oh! You said you drank wine."

Madine sat straight up. "What holo, Jelda?"

"Well, I was sent, I saw -- " she hesitated, as if she realized that she'd touched something dangerous in him, "Mon Mothma stands up, drinks the wine, and then injects herself. Was that your wine?"

He shook his head wishing his mind were clearer. Whatever she’s talking about is important. The Emperor's involved. He's spreading this lie. 

"I gave her some Mercio wine," he said. "Good wine -- "

"Mercio! You never gave me Mercian wine!" she said with some indignation. 

"We had it at our wedding. Don't get distracted," he snapped. "She drank wine and -- "

"And then injected herself with something. She collapsed," Jelda finished. "What went on? There's something you're not telling me."

_You have no idea._ "She was alive when I left," he said, aware of how many times he had repeated that tonight. "The HoloNews was showing that attack on some snow planet. Vader -- "

"Lord Vader."

"- Was leading the pack with Veers as his hell-hound."

"Well, it was running in the background of the holo I saw, so she must have done it just after you left. You say you talked -- "

"Danced." He instantly regretted his interruption. 

Her eyes sparkled and she leaned forward. "You danced? What else did you do?"

"I wasn't her lover," he snapped, angry at his vanishing command of the situation. "She was playing music, she asked -- "

"Never? Oh, Crix why not?" Jelda inquired sweetly. "Even I could see she liked you."

"She liked -- there's more to it than that!" he slashed back. "At least with someone like her."

"And not me?" Jelda's voice rose. "We started with just like--"

"I don't have time for this! And I don't have to deal with you. Take that temper out on Bonstable, not me," he ordered his self control hanging by threads. "We were friends, we never were lovers -- "

"Something to regret now, isn't it?" Jelda retorted. "Now that you never will be."

"She's not dead!" Madine roared. 

Jelda's face became a mask of sympathy. "She will be soon. They say she probably won't live out the night. Are you sure that's all that happened this afternoon? Whatever did you say that drove her to suicide, Crix?"

Incredulous, he stared at her for a breath, then slammed down on the disconnect. 

His stomach rolled. He buried his face in his hands until it calmed down. Her last words rang through him. _Oh, gods, she's going to spread the word that I saw Mothma, that I was there today... and everyone will play it like I killed her, that I was her lover and she died for me.... I don't want my name connected with it. What's the Emperor going to think? He's got to have put out that holo. What the hell is going on?_

"I'm going to go to sleep," he mumbled, pushing himself away from the comm station. If I wake up tomorrow, I'll take the rest of the antidote for what good it will do me. At least my head will be clear when the Emperor kills me. He shoved the jacket off his bed and stretched out on the cold sheets. He fell asleep. 

 

Typho returned to the embassy apartment to find Ambassador Newlish pacing the floor of the apartment, Kero with him. The food had been cleared as had the glasses but the bottle of wine was still sitting on the end table. 

Now aware that every word was monitored, Typho couldn't tell the man the truth. He saluted and waited. The Ambassador paused in giving instructions, and although his gaze took in the bruises that Typho could feel on his face, Newlish only said, "Well, what did you find out, Captain" 

Typho shrugged. "I spoke with Major Madine, sir, but he doesn't know why she did this."

"So he wasn't involved? Have the city authorities talked with him?"

Slightly startled, Typho asked, "Are you opening an investigation with the Coruscant authorities?" 

"I asked them to question the major but I haven't heard anything. I think they feel it's an internal problem between Chandrila and the military."

"So they leave it up to us," Typho concluded. They probably knew better than to interfere. "How is she?"

"Fading. Baja's sitting with her. I want to send her home."

"Baja?"

The man frowned at him. "Mon Mothma."

"I suspected you would, sir, so after I talked with the major, I went to the port. There's a ship leaving tomorrow that's already cleared for Chandrila and can take her back. It's called the SUN RAIDER." Belatedly, Typho realized that if that was the ship's real name, it was also going to be a target after the truth came out. Oh, well, collateral damage. "That is, if you want -- "

"Thank you, Captain," Newlish replied gratefully. "I was just getting to that problem. They'll take her with them?"

"Yes sir," Typho felt a rush of relief. He hadn't had to pressure the man. "I told them I'd escort her." Now he read denial in the other's face, and so continued, "It's my responsibility, sir. I should have prevented this." He stood straighter. "I would be very honored to take her back."

Newlish frowned. "It isn't a very pleasant task, Captain."

"I want to finish it," Typho insisted turning it into a personal request. "Please."

"All right. I'm sending Baja back as well. She's too young to be here on Coruscant," Newlish looked at the door. "Kero and I will go back to the embassy now to contact the authorities at home. Tell Baja to stay in case... death comes tonight."

"I'll spell Counselor Baja in a few minutes," Typho said. "Let her get some rest."

"Very well. I'll talk with the SUN RAIDER's captain and make sure of the arrangements in case something... in case she dies on board or, or -- " Newlish shook off his stutter, "or if we're sending back a coffin." He sent an anguished look in the direction of the bedroom. In a lowered voice, he asked, "Why'd she do it, Typho?"

"I don't know, sir," he answered. "I don't know."

The ambassador redonned his public mask. "See me tomorrow in the morning, Captain. Good evening. And thank you. Kero?"

Typho nodded, hiding his impatience to be alone as he escorted the two men out. The door shut and he hurried back to the bedroom. 

 

The young aide was sitting in a chair by the door when he walked in. He saw the med-droid was hovering watchfully next to the bed where Mon Mothma breathed regularly as if in a deep sleep. Every now and then the rhythm caught, but then she took another deep breath, and went on sleeping. 

He felt the rod against his ribs. Casually, making it seem like he was just scratching, unclipped the first injector. Now to get it into her. "Do you need a break?" Typho gently asked Baja. 

The girl looked up, desperation -- more like terror -- on her face. "Oh, please, yes, but I don't want to leave her alone."

He gave her a slight smile. "I'll take care of her. Go and rest for several hours."

She was gone almost before he stopped speaking and Typho moved to the bed. He lifted Mon Mothma's right arm, brushing back her sleeve, as if he was looking for the mark of the injector. The 'droid stirred but didn't move. 

He ran his fingers over the slight mark, frowning, tsking as if he was looking for evidence. His hands hidden by a fold, he let the small injector slide into his fingers, and pressed it on the same spot hoping that he had it right. His fingertips shadowed the light that flashed when the cartridge was empty. He pushed the small injector back up his sleeve. If the Emperor is watching, he thought, we're all dead right now. Brushing down Mon Mothma's sleeve, he laid her arm down gently. She seemed unaffected by the new dose. Her breathing didn't change.

Typho went to the doorway and his breath caught when he saw Baja with the bottle in her hands, turning it to catch the light. Her fascination with the contents was obvious. She clearly came to some decision because she put her hands on the electronic cork to pull it out. 

"Don't drink that!" 

Baja squeaked at the shout and turned, her eyes wide, her expression guilty, and her hands not moving. "I was just looking at it!"

He took the bottle from her hands before she could drop it. "Mercio wine. A very good wine."

"She drank it and then injected herself," Baja said in a small voice. "It looks so pretty."

"It is," he said calming his tone so as to not terrify the girl. "Not rare here, but expensive. But I think we'd better get rid of this. It was obviously a bad vintage."

He walked into the kitchen, the girl trailing after him, and put the bottle into the waste disintegrator. With a flash, the Mercio vanished into a dust that even he couldn't see. That took care of the poison. 

"Did you clean up?" he asked turning to her. "The food, the glasses -- "

"The 'droid did," she whispered. "Everything but that bottle. The Ambassador was going to destroy it at the funeral.”  
“Tell him I did it. Now, I'd better get back to the Representative -- "

"I'm going to watch HoloNews," she broke in. 

He frowned. "Why?"

She blushed. "I need to know more about what's going on in the galaxy. They keep telling me that."

_And she's getting it from HoloNews? Gods, she might believe it's true!_ "Go to sleep for a while, Baja. I'll need a break in several hours."

"If she dies, I have to witness -- "

"If she's dying, I'll call you. I promise." Typho stepped out of the kitchen and headed back to the bedroom where everything looked unchanged except that the 'droid was scanning Mon Mothma. "What?"

"Nothing. She is stable," the 'droid replied, adding, "She is still alive. I thought she was fading but I was wrong."

Typho sat down in the chair by the door. Apparently Madine's antidote was working. "I think she wants to go home," he said to satisfy any programming the droid might expect. "She'll live long enough to do that."

"Maybe," the 'droid said expressionlessly. "She may live until morning now. She is fighting for her life."

_Aren't we all?_ Typho thought staring at Mon Mothma. _Aren't we all?_


	3. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would the rescue plan for Mon Mothma work and what would it do to Crix Madine?

The sound of heavy knocking barely preceded the door being opened, but the sound was enough to trigger combat memories in Madine who slammed the intruder against the wall by the door, his arm against the throat, throttling him. 

Captain Allorn wheezed, one hand going up to see if he could get some breath. 

Madine blinked for a second but didn't release his grip.

"The Emperor... the Emperor," Allorn gasped. Madine relaxed a fraction. "Orders your attend...wants you."

"I'll bet he does," Madine said in a snarl. "When?"

"Now... now," Allorn whispered. "Let...go."

Madine stepped back, then with one hand grabbed Allorn by the collar. The other hand palmed the door open. "Wait for me."

"They're waiting outside!" Allorn gasped as he hit the opposite side of the corridor. "Right now!"

"They can wait," Madine said harshly turning on his heel. The door closed. He slammed his palm on the lock and went to get dressed. It had only been two days before when he'd heard the same command, and this time he took his time getting ready. He glanced in the mirror to see how he looked -- a bit tired -- and injected himself with the last of the antidote. Luckily he was over the vomiting stage. By the time he reached the Emperor's tower, he should be clear-headed. 

Sliding on his tunic, he buttoned it up, brushed back his hair and picked up his cap on the way out. 

Barely five minutes had passed, but when the door slid open, he was slightly taken aback to see a corridor full of Stormtroopers. Allorn had obviously called for reinforcements. The captain stood opposite him, one hand massaging his throat, his expression resentful.

"Let's go," Madine ordered before Allorn could say anything. He settled his cap as he walked passed the captain and into the troopers, who made way for him. Allorn trailed behind. 

Outside, a speeder waited, and he was startled to see two of the tall red-clad Imperial Guardsmen standing beside it. They were an ominous portent, -- and a draw. Looking up and around, he saw faces at every window of the Officer's Quarters, and, down the long platform, small gatherings of men who whispered and watched

_It's a hell of an exit._

Madine wondered what they’d heard to have those expressions. _I wonder what the gossip is right now. It's got be at least ten hours since I passed out. Jelda's probably spread...something, anything, far and wide._

He stopped in front of the Guardsmen who stepped to one side, indicating he should get into the speeder. 

Once seated, Madine looked out the window and saw Perrin's worried face across the platform. Their gazes met for a fraction of a second, acknowledging the situation, then the red-clothed guards settled in, bracketing Madine and Allorn took a seat opposite, his back to the pilot. The speeder took off. 

 

This time when they reached the tower, the Guardsmen flanked him until they stepped off the elevator. Then, they dropped back to stand on either side of the entrance, leaving Madine to approach the Emperor alone. 

He stopped well short of the hooded figure and came to attention. 

The Emperor sat in his chair, his hands stroking the top of his cane. Finally, he looked at Madine. "She isn't dead yet."

"No, sir.

"Why?"

"She is dying slowly. You asked that it be subtle, sir. She will be dead when she reaches Chandrila, as your private med-'droid must have reported, sir."

"I made sure he confirmed it," the Emperor said dryly. Madine could barely see the man's eyes; they seemed to be examining him from top to bottom. "Not that I doubt your work."

"Understood, sir," Madine said unruffled. He was rested now, and able to take great care about what he revealed. 

"The official reason will come out that she was a leader of the Rebellion." The Emperor spoke without doubt. "Her grief at the destruction of the main Rebel forces made her commit suicide."

"Yes, sir." 

Not that that will stop the gossip. 

"If there are questions, then we may have to release more information showing her treason, and arrest her family on Chandrila, but this doesn't seem necessary at the moment." The Emperor watched for Madine's reaction.

"As you say, sir," Madine said as he reached into his tunic. "I do have one thing for you." He took out the lomar necklace, still warm from his skin, and walked up to the Emperor's desk to the sound of a force lance being unsheathed behind him. 

The Emperor didn't flinch but just cocked his head and gazed curiously as Madine put the necklace on the table and stepped back to where he was before. The crackle of the lance stopped. "I thought you'd wish a souvenir of the Senator and of Alderaan, your Excellency." 

The Emperor stared at the necklace, and smiled slowly, his withered lips drawing back. "A pretty trinket. No one has missed it?"

"I don't think the Ambassador knows it's gone. Captain Typho didn't ask about it when I saw him last night."

"Your meeting is undoubtedly the reason for his bruises," the Emperor murmured. "This is a lovely chain but I only collect one thing. I think," the necklace rose a foot in the air, spread out as if it were held by invisible hands, the lomars glinting blue-green in the morning light, " -- that you should keep it. A memento of a friendship." 

The necklace floated towards Madine.

With a flash of insight, Madine remembered Typho's words -- 'Anything that will make you -- that will cause some pain, he'll love.'   
If so, keeping his emotions in check was the wrong way to deal with this audience. Going against his nature, Madine let his fury show. 

The Emperor's lips curled upward; the necklace dropped.

Madine lunged forward. He caught it and the necklace found the safety of his pocket in one fluid, determined motion. "I'm sure the Empire is better for her death, sir," Madine said calmly in clear contradiction to the anger he had shown and, in truth, felt. 

"Indeed, it is." The Emperor still stroked the top of his cane. "Give me a reason for keeping you alive, Major."

Madine met the challenging gaze without flinchingly. "Because, sir, why chose someone new to do your extra special missions?"

"Such as murder?" Palpatine was smiling wide. "Such a simple term for something so far reaching" -- and then he wasn't smiling at all. "I could choose anyone in Special Operations to do that kind of work."

"Not like I can," Madine said. "Didn't Typho give her another injection last night?

The Emperor studied him. "I saw him do it," he said at last, "yes."

"I gave it to him. I told him it was an antidote."

A smile returned to the Emperor's face. "And it was more poison? A nice touch." He waved his hand. Over his desk a hologram formed of a levitating sick-bed with two guards on each side. A med-droid rolled beside it as they went up a ramp into a spaceship. Secured to the bed, Mon Mothma appeared unconscious. Two steps behind the bed was Captain Typho, the right side of his face swollen and darkened with bruises. Following him was a very young woman, wearing a green and gold gown, her hair covered with a veil.   
"They're leaving now," the Emperor said with satisfaction. "Very good work, Colonel."

_Colonel?_

"Sir?"

"You are transferred to the Coruscant garrison. Go."

 

Typho knew that getting Mon Mothma off the planet was only the first step, but what he never suspected was that biggest problem with saving her was going to come from young Baja. 

The aide had obviously been given strict orders to stay with Mon Mothma, and Baja's obedience was going to make administrating the next step of the antidote very difficult. 

And if the Senator reacts like Madine did, her reaction to the drug will be messy and smelly as well. No one will be able to miss that she's still alive, and probably getting better. 

Baja was determined to do her duty. Typho could find no way to pry her free of the cabin. I have to get her out of there, Typho thought with growing exasperation. Maybe I should be like Madine -- I know what he'd do in this situation. He'd throw her in a locked cabin for the rest of the trip.

The ship gave that slight jolt that said they'd entered hyperspace, and Typho knew it was his time to act. 

"How is she?" he asked, coming into the cramped ship's cabin that passed as a room fit for dying.

"I don't know," she said, her voice small. "She's still breathing."

"Have you ever seen a person die, Baja?" Typho asked looking down at her. "Why'd the Ambassador send you back with her anyway?"

"He said that she needs a witness when she dies. It's customary," she assured him. Her head drooped and he could barely hear her.   
"But, I don't know what... if she... I don't want to be here, Captain Typho."

"I'm willing to stand witness," Typho offered, hoping his voice sounded a proper balance of concern. He squatted beside her. "Trust me, Baja, this isn't the first time I've seen someone die. You go out and have something to drink -- just watch out for the Corellians. They're all rogues but I'll kill anyone who touches you. Go on. I'll take care of her. She's my responsibility after all. I should have been there." In his mind there were echoes of another woman who had been in his care, who went away and died. Now, if this young woman didn't leave, he'd lose another Senator. "I'll call you when she's gone, I promise."

Baja took a deep breath and explained, "We seal -- our custom is -- to seal the body in the casket, wrapped in a cloth like my clothes." She gestured to her dress with its folds of gold and green fabric over her knees to the floor. "It's mourning."

"And you have the cloth over there," he interrupted pointing to a table to one side. He really had to get her moving. "I'll do it, Baja. Go get some food."

She rose, hesitated for just that second that made him wonder if she was going to dispute him, then escaped, the silken cloth of her gown shimmering around her. 

Barely had the door had closed when Typho was sitting on the side of the bed next to Mon Mothma, the second injector in his hand. Her breathing was dangerously shallow.

Now we'll see if that bastard did it right, he thought pressing the injector to the same spot as the other dose. This injector took longer to empty. Must have been a stronger dose

Mon Mothma stirred, banishing his worry. Her breathing deepened. The med-droid perked up and ran a scan. "She is reacting well," it stated. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Typho said. "I was told it was an antidote." He held out the injector and the 'droid scanned it, analyzing what little was on the top. 

She convulsed then, arms jerking then grasping each other across her stomach. Without thinking, Typho grabbed her pulling her close but at a slight angle. He watched as her eyes opened and shut, and blinked as she shuddered, her throat working to keep the gorge down. 

Well, he warned me about this. When she couldn't restrain herself, he took the vomit in the face and over his shoulder. She gagged and coughed until her throat was clear, and he waited until she'd managed to catch her breath, to let her sink back onto the stained bedclothes. 

The 'droid scanned again. "She'll do more of that."

"She can't have much in her stomach," Typho complained, slightly gagging himself. "Do I have enough time to get a towel?"

"No."

 

Mothma hadn't felt this sick for years. Her constitution was strong enough to go from planet to planet, culture to culture and not get ill. 

But from the taste in her mouth, the grimy feeling of her face, and dryness of her eyelids, she had succumbed to something. 

Painfully, she opened her eyes. She was lying on her side on a small hard bed, but where? 

"Feeling better?" a familiar voice asked. For a second she thought it was Madine. Then she recognized Typho. "Want something to rinse out your mouth?"

"Where... what happened?" she whispered. "Where am I?"

"Aboard a ship called the SUN RAIDER," Typho supplied. "You're on the way back to Chandrila." He wiped her face with a damp cloth. "Actually, you're supposed to be dead."

She frowned. "Dead?"

"Yes, and I'd appreciate it if you live if only to spite Palpatine," Typho said acidly. 

The afternoon came flooding back into her memory. "Crix..."

"Your major's got a hard punch. He set up your escape -- "

"Set up... Set what up?" she asked pushing herself against the pillows to raise her head and shoulders, if only slightly more upright than before. She really felt weak. "What's going on?"

Wringing the cloth in a basin, Typho explained what had happened after she collapsed from the poison. 

"So I'm going to Chandrila?" 

"No, that would get you killed, wouldn't it? We're making a stop along the way -- if Sergeant Perrin got the message to the right people on time."

The right people. "So, you know," she said watching him, "about the Rebellion."

"Not until Madine told me. He said the Emperor ordered your assassination."

"That's what he told me too," she said. "I didn't think he'd do it."

"He had to follow his orders to get you off safely," Typho said bluntly, reaching over with the wet cloth. 

She interrupted him and took the cloth to wipe her face and neck. She thought hard to pull her memories through the fog in her mind. Her hand stopped at the hollow below her neck. She dropped the cloth into her lap. "My necklace!"

"What?"

"My lomar necklace! Where is it? Did he take it?" She was incredulous. "He stole it!"

"I'm sure he had a reason," Typho laughed. "I wish he could explain -- "

"'Had'?" She stared at him. 

"He didn't make the ship," Typho said quietly. "I’d hoped he’d be assigned to make sure you died. But it’s just us, the med-droid and young Baja -- "

"The child? What's she doing here?" Mon Mothma asked. 

His smile returned. Typho picked up the wet wash cloth from the blanket. He sat straighter, more the familiar bodyguard reporting than a worried uncle fretting. "Right now, waiting to sit watch on your casket. I'm about to tell her that you just died."

Mothma suddenly recognized the colors of the funeral cloth that lay folded beside the bed and sat up sharply. Her head swam and she laid her hand on the blanket to steady herself. She might feel better -- she caught herself reaching again for the necklace missing from her neck, but even that slight movement brought back the nausea. She had to concentrate. Slowly, she leaned back against the pillow and mustered a faint smile. "Which makes you the death witness?"

"Yep. Me." She stared at Typho's ironic tone, and then both broke into laughter. "She's done hours of watching, a loyal child," he insisted over a chuckle, "but she's been happiest when she's with the crew. Corellians, you know."

"This ship is Corellian?"

"Captain, engineer, some of the others come from other places. She's under the age of consent on Corellia, so Esch gave orders to leave her alone. They're teaching her sabacc. The SUN RAIDER's a Rebel supplier," Typho concluded. "I don't want to guess how many names it's had -- "

"And so we're meeting with another ship -- "

"You're being dropped off, and I take the casket and Baja to Chandrila. You have a State funeral and are safe... for a little while at least. Until the Emperor finds out you're alive."

"And Crix is dead," she concluded. 

Typho's voice quieted back into serious. "The Emperor probably insisted. If I was alive, I'd run at the first chance."

"If he's alive," she said suddenly feeling weaker. 

"Yes. Tell me something," he asked dousing the cloth in his basin twisting it to dampness. "What was the last thing he said to you?"   
Mothma stared at him, puzzled by the request. 

He caught her confusion and continued, "I asked him why he was saving you and he said to ask you." 

She frowned, turning her head towards the blank wall as she cast back in her blurry memory. "We danced..." She remembered, "...the holoscreen. He said the Emperor ordered it. I asked him 'why -- him?' He said, 'Because I'm your friend.'"

They both thought about that statement, the power of it in all the different circumstances that it might be used -- to deceive the Emperor, as a promise to her, as a farewell.

"He had to act that way," Typho said at last. "The Emperor was watching."

"'Watching'?" She felt her face flush. "You said that. Disgusting. All of it."

"Very," Typho agreed dryly. "Even before we left Coruscant, there were rumors that you and Madine were lovers, that you committed suicide over him."

"Lovers?" She went a slightly deeper shade of red, but irritation won over embarrassment. "I wonder who was spreading that rumor?"

"I think it was all they could think of as an excuse. The thought of your connection with the Rebellion was being discounted."

"Poor Crix!" she exclaimed, shaking her head, imagining the look on his face when he heard that wild claim. She froze suddenly, feeling her gorge rise. She took a gulp, and then stiffened. "Typho -- "

He had a bowl under her chin immediately so she could vomit what little was in her stomach. "Don't worry, Senator," he assured her. "You're not the first woman who's thrown up on me."

She spat a couple of times, then laid back on the pillows, her mouth tasting foul. "Your...wife?" He laughed despite the shadow that flickered in his eyes. "No, another Senator. Padme Naberrie." He stood, and more heartily than he clearly felt, added, "At least you're not pregnant. Are you?"

Mothma stared at the reference to a long-ago past. "What? Who -- "

"By that Jedi lover of her," Typho continued. He crossed the room putting the bowl and engaged the Destroy function. "It was obvious by the time she died -- very obvious. But I knew from the first month or so when she started chucking. I kept it secret because that was what she wanted."

"Jedi...lover?" Slightly dazed by the unexpected twist to old news, she asked, "Who was it?"

"The great savior of Coruscant. The one who saved the chancellor -- too bad," Typho added caustically, "that he succeeded. 

"Obi-wan Kenobi?" she asked in disbelief. She shifted so she could see his face, could read more than he was saying.

He snorted. "'The Negotiator'? No, the other one. Anakin Skywalker."

Mon Mothma hoped her face didn't betray her shock. She had always guessed that Padme was pregnant under those rich robes but never addressed it. She hadn't known who was the lover. But a Jedi? Jedi weren't supposed to have personal connections like a family. And yet, she had known that the Naboo senator had remained friends with the Jedi who had saved her and Naboo so long ago.   
_Padme, you fool, why him?_

_Not that it mattered now. Anakin was dead -- all the Jedi were._ "And Vader's hunting a Skywalker," she murmured, and then caught her breath hoping he hadn't heard.

"Skywalker's alive?" Typho said sharply. He stalked back to her bedside. "The Jedi are dead!"

"No, not him -- ," she caught herself. "I don't know. Vader's hunting a boy with that name."

"The child?" Typho asked. "Padme's child?"

"I don't know," Mon Mothma repeated softly, hoping to defuse Typho's reaction. 

"She gave birth. I know that," Typho insisted. "I watched the funeral. She wasn't as large in her coffin as when she left. She gave birth. But I never found out more."

_And the only one who knew the truth was Bail,_ Mothma mused. _He must have known. He brought her body to Naboo. If she gave birth -- I'd have thought it was Leia. She was adopted around that time._

"I don't know," she said. "If our man is... if I see him again -- our Skywalker -- then maybe I can ask. But I do have to get to the Rebellion to do that, Captain." She sniffed the air, then sent Typho a weak smile. "And I smell terrible."

He blinked, and then he laughed. "So do I." Briskly switching to today's duties, he said, "I'm going to borrow some clothing from the Corellians and after you've had some food, you can take a shower. At least around here no one's going to be watching you."

"When do we meet the ship?" she said as business-like as her bodyguard. She closed her eyes and lay back into the sheets. 

"According to Captain Esch, we've got another cycle," she heard him say, and then order, "Get some sleep." He pulled the light sheet under the coverlet and said with familiar competence, "I'll go and make the arrangements."

 

Madine left the Emperor's tower, once again flanked by the two red-clad guards. Halfway down the elevator, it dawned on him that he was alive. He hadn't expected to leave that tower alive. Now, with all he'd said and heard, he not only wanted to live -- he wanted to make the sadist who had turned the galaxy into his own private prison, suffer. 

How long do I have? He'll find out about her, soon enough. I have to get off of Coruscant. And if I can't -- how much damage can I   
do before they catch me? 

He stepped off the elevator. Walking down the corridor he suddenly realizing he was alone. The guards had remained behind. 

Outside the tower, he adjusted his cap and looked around. Damn. There was Allorn and the speeder. 

The captain looked taken aback at Madine's approach. He saluted and stammered, "Congratulations, sir, on your promotion."

Word travels fast. "Thank you."

"I'll take you back to the garrison where General Bonstable has asked that -- "

Jelda? How does she do that! Madine asked himself incredulously, 

"- You consult with him about attacks on the supply lines by the rebels. He feels your combat expertise will be of assistance."

Not Jelda. A legitimate request that Bonstable would have made with or without the Emperor. "Do you ever get tired of being an errand boy, Allorn?" Madine needled him. "I'll be happy to see the general." 

"Shall I see your things moved to your new quarters, sir?' Allorn asked tightly.

Madine gazed steadily at the man. "What exactly do you know, Captain?"

"I was informed that you are being reassigned here. Temporary quarters aren't appropriate, Colonel. I will be happy to show you various apartments if you'd like to chose," Allorn replied, adding because it was clear Madine was a bit slow on the pick-up at that moment. "I have been assigned as your aide, sir."

Oh, great. I get to kill this idiot on my way out. 

"In that case, Captain, you may leave my belongings where they are," Madine said. "I'll have Perrin -- "

"I believe Sergeant Perrin is not part of the garrison," Allorn interrupted. 

"He stays with me until I release him," Madine said brusquely. "Now I want to go back to my quarters now and prepare to see Bonstable."

Allorn looked unconvinced but said, "Yes, sir," politely and followed Madine into the speeder. It took off. 

 

Perrin was astonished when the car landed and Madine exited, trailed by Allorn. Neither officer looked at him as they went into the quarters.

_What is going on? He's still alive?_

Perrin had watched the brief HoloNews piece on Mon Mothma. For once the galactic network had been reasonably discreet. Better than the gossip that was running rampant through officers’ quarters. He lingered outside, fully expecting to get the call that shortly set off his wrist com. Madine was calling him. 

The major's door was open. Perrin walked in and found Allorn standing inside, just barely not arguing with the officer. Perrin wondered how long he'd stay alive. Not long, from Madine’s expression. 

"I'll assign you a driver -- " Allorn was saying.

"Perrin's my driver," Madine interrupted rudely.

"Sir -- "

"Dismissed," Madine snapped.

The captain turned, saw Perrin, and his ears went red. He stalked out, past the sergeant who prudently stepped out of the way. Allorn disappeared down the corridor. 

Perrin stepped into the room and saluted. "Sir."

Madine turned, a studied neutral expression on his face. "I'll be going to General Bonstable's in an hour. Make sure the car is ready," he ordered. "You know the way." 

"Yes, Major."

"The word hasn't spread yet? I'm a colonel, Perrin," Madine said with a short laugh, "for a job well done."

Perrin met his gaze with a raised eyebrow, and Madine nodded. "Good lecture techniques, sir," Perrin agreed. "Always thought you were a fine teacher."

With a hint of a smile, Madine discarded his tunic, then went to work pulling off his boots. "I hear that I'll be moving to a different apartment as well. Allorn plans on showing them to me."

_Which means he isn't free to walk around,_ translated Perrin. _Damn._

"He's pointed out that you aren't assigned here," Madine continued, tossing aside his right boot. "That means you'll be going back to your unit." 

_Like hell,_ Perrin thought. _I intend to run and hide as fast as I can leave this base. He could see Madine knew what he was thinking._

"I'll miss you, but I think it would be best," Madine concluded the interview as any other officer might. "I'll have the orders cut."

"What about you, sir? Are you staying?" Perrin asked, keeping his tone light, while thinking, Only if you have a death wish. You've gone through the last two days looking like you're on a suicide mission, now you're like one of those force lances on overload. What happened?

"I've been reassigned here," Madine replied. "I suspect I'll be... I don't know. I'll think about that later. You're dismissed, Perrin."

"Yes, sir." Perrin saluted again, and turned on his heel. 

_I'll check the car good for listeners as well, Major -- Colonel. We've got to talk._

 

Start planning. Bonstable this afternoon, and I should be able to get free by tonight. Then run. 

Abruptly Madine's good mood evaporated. If Mon Mothma's ship had left this morning, then the Emperor could still track her down.   
What I need is proof she'd arrived -- at the Rebellion or at Chandrila. In which case she'd be as good as dead, and this was all worthless. I need to get some kind of sign. Perrin's got to go. I'm not dragging him any further into this. 

He recalled the sergeant's expression of disbelief when he was dismissed. I'll deal with Perrin. 

Madine re-dressed carefully thinking about his options. Now that the burst of optimism had faded, he could see that he was still probably going to end up dead. 

So. 

He looked back at his years of service and wondered how he'd been so oblivious to the decay around him. It was easy to think about the more positive action he'd seen. Some of what he'd done, he'd have to live with. For the few short days that I'm alive, his subconscious taunted him. He wished he could take his troop with him. The hand-chosen and well-trained soldiers would be hunting him, if he escaped a quick summary death, when Mon Mothma reappeared. . 

He stared in the mirror and seeing a perfectly attired Imperial officer. _I'm not going to make it easy for that damned bastard Emperor to kill me, Palpatine has got to go._

Outside, he found Perrin and a speeder awaiting on him. Madine was well aware that hundreds of curious eyes again followed his departure. 

First the rumors of Mon Mothma and an affair, then a second meeting with the Emperor. Well, when they know the truth, there will be another spat of gossip to spread.

Perrin expertly steered the speeder into a stream of traffic, then set it on auto. "I checked for listening devices, sir. There aren't any." He turned in his seat and without preamble, asked, "What are you going to do, sir?"

"What's the situation?" Madine asked, his eyes on the swirling traffic that wove among the buildings. "What have you heard?"

"The ship left safely, has gone to hyperspace. They're expected in Chandrila in two and a half Coruscant days," 

"You don't know -- "

"No, I didn't ask them to tell me about her. We're on our own."

Madine looked at his erstwhile aide. "You're on your own. I'm not dragging you down with me."

"What the hell?" Perrin was angry, but he caught himself. "What are you doing, sir? Do you think you can go along until they find out about the Senator?"

Madine laughed. "Sergeant, I intend to go underground as fast I can, but right now, I can't get free. If Palpatine realizes what I've done before she gets to safety -- "

"Sir, she's never going to be safe! The Empire's saying the rebellion's crushed, their army broken on Hoth -- 

"Do you believe that?"

Perrin shook his head. "I've listened to it all, sir, and I don't think so. They're not trotting out dead lists with any major names that I've heard of as commanders. Rieekan. Dodonna -- "

"He's dead," Madine said abruptly. "They rounded up his family out of the survivors of Alderaan and had them shipped to Kessel."

"You weren't -- "

"No. I heard about it. They were respected academics.”

"Then they're probably all dead now. But, out of Hoth, no big names.”

“We don't know if she's safe," Madine murmured. "Hell of a mess for her to inherit."

After a second's recognition of the obvious, Perrin asked, "When are you going to run, sir?"

"When are you, sergeant? You're not safe. You're connected to me." 

"As soon as I can," Perrin admitted, leaning forward. "Go down world or try to hit a port before they catch me. Sir -- " he looked up, " -- with due respect, whatever you've got planned, give it up."

"Too early, Sergeant," Madine felt his determination harden. He stared out a window. "I want to know a little more before -- "

"He'll kill you!" Perrin shouted. He sat up sharply, his hands spread out as if he truly wanted to throttle Madine. "Why are you being so stubborn!"

Madine had never heard Perrin this angry and he noted, with a flicker of amusement, with such a lack of respect for rank. He clamped a hand on Perrin's arm and leaned forward. "Think, Sergeant. What kind of damage can I do in the time I've left?"

Perrin gaped. "What-what? Damage?"

"Damage. For one thing, I can rid Coruscant of Allorn -- which might not actually be called damage," Madine said after a moment of consideration, "but I can make trouble."

Perrin shook his head. "It's too short a period of time. All you're doing is setting yourself up to die. Sir."

Madine laughed and let go. "I don't intend to die, Perrin, not without a fight. But how much distraction can my making trouble here help the rebels elsewhere?"

"You're crazy. I should just take this speeder off auto and -- "

"You run after you drop me off," Madine ordered. "Get the hell away from here. You don't need to be involved in any more of this."

Perrin stared at him in disbelief. Without a word, he turned back to the wheel, and switched off the autopilot. The ship glided down to the main administrative buildings for the Coruscant home guard. 

Madine stepped out without any further words and headed indoors. He didn't expect Perrin to be there when he came out. 

 

Mon Mothma felt much better after the third dose of antidote, and a shower. Wearing fresh clothes and her hair brushed back, she wondered who would recognize her; she thought she looked very different. Lost weight with the poison too, she mused, pacing the small cabin. Thanks, Crix. I didn’t really need that.

The clothes came from her luggage that was being returned to Chandrila, along with her coffin. Newlish, too, had been very competent. 

And from what Typho said, the Corellians had effectively comforted -- and distracted -- young Baja so well that the young aide had been thoroughly absent from her coffin duty. Amazing how a promise to not tell your bosses could lead to breaking the rules. 

Walking helped Mothma clear her mind. Along with her “death,” she remembered seeing the news about Hoth. She could only hope that the Rebellion could make their rendezvous. They hadn't been heavy on ships the last she checked. She'd been working on that -- transportation and supply issues. 

_I suppose I should be glad that Palpatine decided to just kill me. Not arrest and interrogate. Why did you chose Crix, you bastard?_

She remembered Madine's last words and on all the different meanings. 'Because I'm your friend.” 

So you committed suicide for me? I didn't know you felt that way. 

I didn't know I felt this way about you. 

"Are you dead, Crix?" Her voice echoed of the metal walls of the cabin. Until they came out of hyperspace, she wouldn't know. 

A thump on the door. Mothma stepped out of direct view of the corridor. 

Typho came in, waiting until the door closed to speak. "Five minutes, Senator."

"What's going on?" 

He shrugged. "We're dropping out of hyperspace in five, then are docking. Esch continues on to Chandrila, drops off the coffin,   
then returns to get a makeover for his ship."

"You're coming with me?"

"No I’m staying on the SUN RAIDER to make it look good to Baja,” he said. "Esch’ll be leaving Chandrila as fast as he can, so I’ll see you soon. Your techs’ll overhaul the SUN RAIDER and it’ll be like new. 

“So you’ve joined the Alliance, then.”

“I've got a death mark on me as soon as the Emperor finds out you're alive, Senator. Just like your friend said I would."

"Madine's a good man, Typho."

"He was your man, Senator," Typho said sharply. “He didn’t do it for your rebellion; he did it for you.” 

Mothma dropped her gaze for a second, acknowledging the truth in that statement. "What about Baja?" she asked, returning to attention.

Typho smiled. "She's down in the hold with the coffin, doing what she's supposed to do. That door's locked. You'll leave through the main hatch."

"Seven minutes max," she murmured, assessing the usual efficiency of spacer and rebel crews. "How many of the crew knows?"

"All of them, though Esch and his engineer, Gravie, are in charge. The other three are playing cut-throat sabacc. Esch told them to stay out of it."

She nodded satisfied that that was taken care of. “I’m glad you’re coming back. We can use you, Captain," she said.

"I hope so," he replied, "Since there's nowhere else for me to go now."

"What about Coruscant? You've got a life there -- "

"Your major pried me out of that," he replied, his tone turning caustic. "Played me like a musical tone."

Mothma couldn't argue with Madine's manipulative abilities, but she wondered if Typho was really more interested in Padme and Anakin Skywalker and Luke. She remembered enough of a conversation that led her to suspect his new allegiance was more personal than a love of freedom. 

He continued, "There wasn't anything there for me, Senator. I was just marking time."

She cocked her head, watching him closely. "Trying to find out what happened with Padme?"

Typho took a deep breath, then nodded. "Trying to find out the truth. Didn't think it would take twenty years to do it."

"You think you have it now?" she asked

"Maybe. I think I've got questions that the Rebellion can answer. I've been wondering, Senator, whatever happened to Anakin Skywalker?"

This time she blinked. She'd never asked that question. "I don't know," she said puzzled. "I assumed he died with all the others. Anakin was the Emperor's representative on the Council, his voice to the Jedi Order and then, one day, he was gone." 

Intensity returned to Typho's voice. "I collected every story about that time," he said. "I've tracked down what happened to many of them -- stories from smugglers, traders, rumors. I never found out what happened to Skywalker. He was on Coruscant at the time. I found out how Master Windu died -- pieces of his body were identified and cremated by the Empire. I paid a year's salary to get the records of the cleanup." A thump interrupted them and the feel of the ship's movement changed. "We're in the hold, Senator. You'll be leaving in a few minutes."

"The clean-up?"

He shook his head. "I've got no proof of how some of them died. Obi-Wan Kenobi -- "

"Died on the Death Star," she interrupted. "That I know for certain."

He stared at her. "He lasted that long? Amazing. I wonder about Anakin Skywalker. You tell me there's a boy by that name -- "

She had remembered correctly. "Luke Skywalker...he's with us but I doubt he knows his past, if he has one. He came from Tatooine."

"So did Anakin," Typho replied softly.

Mothma said nothing. If Typho's reasons for joining the Alliance had to do with figuring out old secrets, then she wished him luck. She had other, more solid troubles, and they waited for her beyond the ship's airlock. "I think you've found out more than anyone about the Purge, Captain. Now, isn't it about time -- "

His wristband flashed. He smiled and placed his hand over his heart in a formal salute. "Senator, it is time to leave." At the door he thumbed open the lock and stepped outside, looking carefully around. After a nod, he glanced over his shoulder, placed a finger to his lips, he waved her to follow him.

The SUN RAIDER wasn't a large ship. It only took a minute to reach the now open hatch were a gangly man, his arms crossed, stood eying the three heavily armed soldiers facing him. 

Mothma saw a box being carried down, and realized that Typho must have had her clothing and personal effects transferred as well. Young Baja was guarding an empty coffin and empty luggage. 

_Ah, well. I'm glad I've still got my official badges._

The med-droid floated down the ramp, now part of the Rebellion.

She saw the troops were wearing Alliance Special Operations uniforms. 

Typho let her proceed in front of him, once he saw the welcoming party, and as leader, she turned to the tall stranger to speak. 

The spacer shook his head sharply, and pointed down the ramp. _Get off,_ the gesture said.

_No speech then. No thank you. Just a job well done._

She nodded and a pair of soldiers fell in beside her. Together they walked off the ship and down into the hanger bay where other troops waited in position, battle-ready. Mon Mothma gratefully breathed in the security of an Alliance warship. 

Halfway across the floor, she heard the creak of the gangway going up. She turned in time to see the SUN RAIDER's hatch close. 

Waving back the troops, an officer came up and greeted her. "Glad to see you, Representative. General Issahn awaits you upstairs."

_Issahn? We are desperate._ The man had been a low ranking intelligence analyst when she last checked. Honest but unimaginative was Carlist Rieekan's acid assessment in one sentence. ”Thank you. What's happened on Coruscant?"

"They've prepared a briefing," the captain replied. "This way."

 

From the whispers that buzzed as he walked through the headquarters to his meeting with General Bonstable, Madine knew that the rumor of his killing Mon Mothma had enhanced his reputation. That he'd come out alive from the Emperor's tower only added a patina of awe. 

Back in the real world, Jelda's husband was a font of information on the various depredations of the Rebels on the supply lines of the Empire. Madine spent the afternoon talking with Bonstable, learning how the Empire creaked under the huge bureaucracy created by the military governors -- which worked in its enemy's favor. Madine could see any number of different ways that the Imperial system could be disrupted from electronic confusion to ship attacks. 

The rebels haven't learned to use this yet. They're sloppy. Being caught in one base? That shouldn't have happened.   
They had done one thing right on Hoth though. From Veers' report, the base's computers were so badly destroyed that it would take months to rebuild them. 

_And Vader is on some kind of hunt through an asteroid belt chasing -- what?_

Madine still felt a shiver down his back at the thought of Darth Vader. The Emperor -- no. Not anymore. Palpatine was vulnerable to hate. It made him human. But his brutal henchman was a nightmare.

"You're coming to dinner," Bonstable said briskly as his aide came up. "No dispute, Crix, I've got my orders."

"Who are you more afraid of, General -- your wife or the Emperor?" Madine laughed, noted a slightly stricken look on Bonstable’s aide's face. Joking about the Emperor was dangerous. "I would be honored." 

"Where is your driver?" Bonstable asked, glancing about. 

"I sent him away," Madine replied. "He will be returning to his unit shortly, and I wanted him to have some time off. I believe that Captain Allorn is my assigned officer."

"Send a message to Allorn," Bonstable said to his aide. "We'll be at my apartment."

The man saluted and fell in step behind them as they headed for a large comfortable speeder.

 

He should have expected that Jelda would exploit his notoriety to the fullest. The party was full of knowing gazes when he was introduced. Madine didn't want to think what was being said behind his back. 

_The man who made Mon Mothma kill herself? What kind of man is he?_ asked the women's eyes. The men's were full of speculation on what was he going to do next.

His only question was what kind of woman Jelda would sit next to him at dinner. Someone for him to impress or whoever had paid her the most to see if he could be seduced? Murder seemed to enhanced his reputation even there.

Jelda bustled out of the crowd. She stopped to kiss Bonstable on the cheek, but he waved her towards Madine. "I brought him as promised," her husband said in a soft tone, then wandered off.

She put her hands on either side of Madine's face, pulling it down for a kiss. "I'm so glad to see you," she purred. 

He caught her hands and held them firmly. "Listen to me, Jelda," he said so softly she had to step closer to him. He slid his right hand behind her ear, behind the glittering earring, to the nape of her neck, holding her firmly. He whispered, "Mon Mothma meant a lot to me -- more than you. Don't play games tonight. I'm dangerous." He kissed her gently on the temple, the perfumers giving a slight puff at his proximity, and let go. 

She stepped back, a smile hiding her fury, then her gaze met his eyes, and her temper snuffed out. With a shock he saw that, for the first time since they'd known each other, she was afraid of him. "Come and meet other people," she said in the same light tone, but without the possessiveness she'd shown before. "Dinner will be served shortly."

Madine looked around the room and felt a sudden urge to just walk out. He wasn't hungry for this kind of attention. 

There was a stir at the door, and Bonstable's aide came in with Allorn at his side. Allorn spoke with Bonstable, held out something, then both looked at Madine. 

With a sinking feeling, he saw them heading for him. 

"I believe you're underdressed, Colonel," Bonstable boomed, his hand full of a box. "Attention!"

Most of the men in the room stiffened while the women watched avidly.

_Oh, no._

Madine saw the new rank markings and realized his promotion had just come though. And his ex-wife's husband was going to pin them on him. 

It took only a second. Madine, his jaw set, looked over Bonstable's shoulder while the placket was attached, then he saluted, and everyone else in uniform saluted and the impromptu ceremony ended. The party went back to chattering and whispering, glassware clinking as the 'droids circled offering congratulatory drinks. 

Allorn came up beside him, saluting smartly. "Colonel Madine?"

"Yes?" Madine replied in a clipped tone, not looking at the man. He sipped on the fine wine. Mercio. He knew it had to be Jelda's dig. 

"I am at your service tomorrow to get your quarters settled," Allorn said briskly. "I have prepared the -- "

"Certainly, Captain," Madine cut him off. 

_One more day to give Mon Mothma a breather. When her ship hit Chandrila, I'll be gone._

"I have some work at the Operations Command tomorrow but at mid-day, I should be free."

"Yes, sir."

Turning to Allorn, he added, "Now, I don't believe you're invited here. I'll see you tomorrow."

Blood flushed the young man's face. He saluted. "Yes, sir." He turned and walked out stiffly though the chattering crowd. 

_You may find that I've just given you your life,_ Madine thought turning back to the party. _I must be getting soft._

 

It was a crisp bright afternoon on Chandrila when the SUN RAIDER landed. 

Baja jumped when Typho appeared next to her. “Good luck, Counselor.”

She shot him one apprehensive glance then took a deep breath and put her chin up. “Thank you, Captain. I couldn’t have made it without you. Chandrila appreciates what you did for her – for us.”

He smiled and stepped back into the corridor away from the door. 

When the hatch opened she saw several soldiers, a small caisson, and only one government official. That puzzled Baja. She knew her protocol. For someone of Mon Mothma’s rank and reputation, there should be more people. 

She turned to Captain Esch who had dignified the occasion by wearing a jacket without patches. "Is that all, sir?"

The laconic Esch walked down the ramp to meet the official without answering. 

Gravie shot her a reassuring smile. "They'll unload the coffin and then you'll just have to tell them what happened on Coruscant. You should be home in a day or so."

"I am home," she returned, smiling back, "but I know what you mean. There should be more people, Gravie. Something’s very wrong.”

“Maybe they’re outside the hanger?” he offered. 

She frowned. “Maybe.”

Captain Esch was walking back with the diplomatic official now. A Chandrilan military escort that followed him. 

"I'm the one taking them to the coffin," Gravie announced. "Goodbye, Councilor Baja." He led the six soldiers to the hold. 

"You're Baja?"

She turned to see the official standing a few steps up the ramp. "Yes, sir," Baja said coming down to him. "I was the escort -- "

"I am Diplomat Carluis," the older man cut her off. He looked at her for a moment, obviously struck by her youth. "I'm sorry that you had to be a witness. Was it a peaceful passing?"

Mentally Baja squirmed. After she left Typho that day, she hadn't seen the body. The captain had neatly coffined Mon Mothma. All Baja saw was the covering shroud. "I -- yes. It was. She died in her sleep."

"Good," Carluis replied. They heard boots and moved aside as soldiers emerged with the coffin. They went down the ramp. One soldier followed, guiding the hovering luggage. "Once we have the body in hand," the diplomat added, "I want your report."

Baja felt a sense of relief. That was already filled out. "Yes, sir."

It now was time to leave. She looked up into the ship at the crew who had come out to see the show. She gave a small wave of her hand in farewell. Her gesture garnered several smiles and one blown kiss from Gravie, which made her blush. She followed Carluis, a gift of a sabacc pack in her pocket. She'd become quite a good player over the last several days. 

She heard the ramp creak up as they reached the hanger and realized the SUN RAIDER was preparing for departure. She wondered where they were going now. 

"I'm surprised, sir," she asked taking a skip to come alongside the diplomat, "that there aren't more people here."

"She hardly ended her life respectfully," Carluis said reproachfully. "And there are rumors of... of... She wasn't the representative that Chandrila was so proud of."

"Everyone said she was an excellent diplomat," Baja said stung. "She represented us for a long time -- "

"Be quiet," he snapped. "You don't know everything. What we were sent from Coruscant -- what the Emperor shared with us - she will be buried quietly and forgotten."

Baja let herself drop back a step, uncomfortable with his words. 

"What's this?" Carluis said suddenly as Stormtroopers came from the other end of the hanger at a steady, smart trot.   
An officer with a particularly superior expression on his face stepped in front of Carluis, clearly enjoying how he was going to answer the unspoken question. "Captain Ferlins?"

"I have orders to take possession of the former Senator," Ferlins said briskly, flicking his hand towards the caisson. "By orders of the Empire."

"What?" Carluis roared. "Do you intend to steal our dead -- "

"We are in charge," Ferlins replied even louder, clearly enjoying the confrontation. The Stormtroopers circled the coffin, pushing back the guardsmen. "The authorities wish to find out what killed the Senator -- "

"You know what killed her!" the diplomat said accusingly. "You were sent the information!"

"She killed herself, yes, but the poison used is unknown. Our med-droid on Coruscant was unable to investigate," Ferlins explained, enunciating carefully, "because your ambassador blocked our probe."

_How'd he know that?_ Baja asked herself, understanding immediately that the officer must be more highly placed than his rank stated. She stepped to hide behind Carluis and that caught Ferlins' attention. 

"You accompanied her, didn't you?" Ferlins asked, stepping to one side to see her better. "You were there at her death?"

Baja's words caught in her throat. What was she going to do now? "Uh..."

"Well, tell him, Baja," Carluis ordered with a snap. "You signed the notice."

"I... uh," she felt blood draining from her face. "You should ask Typho, Captain Typho."

"WHY?" Carluis said cuttingly. "He was just the escort!"

"Where is he, this Captain Typho?" Ferlins asked, looking around. 

"They said that he was still on the ship," she whispered. 

The engines of the ship behind them fired up with a roar. The group cringed and fell back as a blast of hot air signaled the departing flight of the SUN RAIDER. They obviously weren't sticking around to answer questions of anybody. 

Baja turned back to see both men staring accusingly at her. 

Ferlins gestured at the coffin. "Open it," he ordered curtly. 

"No!" Carluis yelled stepping forward to stand toe-to-toe with Ferlins. "It's disrespectful!"

Ferlins laughed in his face. "The Empire doesn't care!"

A Stormtrooper unsealed the top and cast it to one side. 

There was no smell. Baja frowned. They wouldn't have been able to embalm Mon Mothma's body on the ship, and while the coffin had a cooler unit, there should have been some odor. 

Ferlins waved to the trooper. "Uncover her."

Carluis ground his teeth. 

The trooper pulled back the shroud. 

Underneath was a stuffed shape made of fiber with the imprint of one of the rim worlds. No body.

Stunned, Carluis stared at it, then snapped his attention to Baja who was ghostly white, one hand on her mouth.   
With a barely audible sniff, Ferlins looked from one to the other, then walked over to the coffin and prodded the shape. 

He looked back at Carluis, at Baja. "I'll inform Coruscant immediately of this development. You," he said with a smile, "are both under arrest." 

 

Madine spent the morning in his new office accessing the computer systems. Not only did he gather information for the future, but he issued orders and made suggestions that if carried out might cripple the Rebellion. He didn't expect them to be carried out. As soon as Mon Mothma appeared, whatever actions he'd taken would be scrutinized down to their genetic structure and probably disavowed. That'd help the rebels. 

He tapped as many different systems as he could to cover his tracks, and send the auditors in the wrong direction, then, feeling virtuous, ate a far-too-filling lunch with the senior garrison officers including the commanding general, Gabon. _He’s a danger. He’s competent. I wonder if I can kill him?_

When he came back to his office, Allorn was waiting. Madine recalled he was due to look at housing with Allorn that afternoon. "Ready?" 

"Yes, sir," Allorn replied in a neutral voice. "I have brought a car. Your sergeant is missing."

"I told him to take time off," Madine told the captain.

Last night Madine signed off on Perrin's leave, dating it retroactively to that afternoon -- and then went to bed. Alone, despite several not so discreet offers from several of Jelda's dinner guests of both sexes.

Allorn glanced pointedly at the HoloNews display. He said, "I see that they're expecting the ship carrying the Senator to land in several hours, sir."

_And I suppose you expect me to find that satisfying news, Allorn?_

"Really," Madine said out loud, his voice chill. "I'm sure that all Chandrila will turn out for it. Let's go."

"Yes sir." 

Three hours later, Madine walked out of an apartment with a wonderful view of the city. He was amazed that he was offered such a place. Was this normal for Colonels? No wonder they went soft when they came to Coruscant. Maybe the difference was the Emperor's influence. "I'll take it. Make the arrangements. Have my belongings sent here. Furnish it.”

"Yes, sir," Allorn replied. 

Despite his dislike of Allorn, Madine had to admit that he was actually fairly competent at logistics. He did know what he was doing with real estate leases. 

"You're dismissed, Captain."

"Dismissed? Are you going out, sir?" Allorn flinched at Madine's glare. "That is none of your business. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" Allorn saluted and fled down the hall to the elevators. 

Madine wandered back into the apartment, waiting to hear the sound of the speeder taking off from the attached private platform. Finally he heard it. 

Stepping away from the window, he checked his wrist communicator. A message appeared. The SUN RAIDER had landed on Chandrila. 

He stripped off his tunic jacket. 

Underneath was a worn shirt and the pants he had tied around it giving him bulk that the tunic had hidden. Changing clothes swiftly, he discarded the uniform pants, keeping the boots -- military boots were common wear on Coruscant. He locked the apartment and headed out, leaving his old life behind.

He estimated he had an hour before he was missed. Enough time to clean out his bank account and vanish into the bowels of the city. 

He realized he hadn't smiled this way for years. 

 

"What is that from Chandrila?" Palpatine asked in a tone that could flay a Rancor.

Facing him, the court official faltered momentarily, then went on. "The information is that Senator Mon Mothma's coffin was empty, my lord. The ship that was carrying her has vanished. The fleet is looking for it. The young Chandrilan aide has confessed that she didn't see the Senator die; she left it to a Captain Typha -- "

"Typho!" the Emperor hissed.

"And he is also gone. Her interrogation continues."

Palpatine glared at the man, who cringed. "So the Senator is still alive?"

"She is gone, sir," the official replied, bowing low. "They have no idea if she is dead or alive." 

Palpatine stood, his eyes glowing red. "Bring me Colonel Madine."


	4. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunted, Crix Madine finds he has friends in unusual places and refuge in a banned spot.

Madine saw Stormtroopers searching amid the milling crowd and wondered if they were hunting him. He’d changed clothes more than once, getting more ragged as he went. Now he headed even lower through the levels to where the beggars and addicts were more common than normal people. 

Four hours had passed since leaving the apartment. If the authorities were competent they'd have realized what happened. Giving an hour for the information to reach here from Chandrila, for the Emperor to be informed -- and he didn't envy the flunky who passed on that information -- the word must have gone out for his arrest. 

Or maybe just detainment. No that miserable bastard in his tower wanted to see me. Three hours for them to put it together and come to the realization that I've become a rebel. Or something. I’m not sure exactly what I am right now. Madine headed towards one of the rusted iron staircases that went down.

It took twenty minutes or so to hit the next wide level. His legs were aching. Addicts accosted him for credits. He shoved them aside. He was after something in particular here.

Unlike the drug den where he'd gotten Mon Mothma's dose, what he wanted was an automated drug dispenser.

Madine dialed for two, paid with two credits, then pulled his choices from the slot and tucked them in his only intact pocket. The current pants were holed, ripped and rolled up. 

Someone groaned in a dim corner. Madine turned, ready for an attack.

Human. He'll do. Madine poked the crouched figure with his shoe. "Wake up!" 

The lump stirred, its eyes half-open. 

Madine held out a credit, rolling it in his fingers. The eyes opened fully. A boy scrambled to his knees. "What?"

"Take off your clothes," Madine ordered. There was a second of hesitation, but the allure of the credit was too enticing. The boy stripped off his shirt. 

Sensing someone behind him, Madine turned and saw no one. Someone's there. His instincts told him to get out fast, forget the boy who was now undoing his shoes, desperate for the credit involved, his eyes locked on the prize in Madine's hand.

"Wait," a soft voice whispered to one side, Madine spun around, the knife he'd procured two changes ago in one hand. The boy froze at the sight of the circulating blade.

Perrin held up both hands. His hair was now cerulean with black streaks, and his skin a lighter shade of blue but Madine recognized him. The sergeant beckoned. 

Madine spent a fraction of second wondering about betrayal, then nodded. He tossed the credit to the half-naked boy and told him, "Get some food." He knew the chit would go into the drug vendor but there was nothing he could do about that. 

Perrin led the way down a flight of stairs. In a ghostly whisper, he said, "The order's out to find you. They're worried you've had an accident."

"Good cover. What else?"

"Nothing yet."

Madine grinned. "Safe haven?"

"Yes." Perrin handed him a scarf. "Hair." Madine covered his head, tying the cloth securely at the nape of his neck. 

It took an hour to reach Perrin's secure room. Clean and small, it had enough space for a doss and some clothes that were piled untidily on the floor. 

In the tiny bathroom, Madine looked in the mirror. "First the face."

"I've got a painter for you," Perrin said. 

"Not blue."

The sergeant grinned. "Match your eyes, sir. I've got some eye covers too. Brown."

"I'll defer to your sense of taste," Madine said dryly. He pulled out the drugs and took the small cup on the counter. 

Perrin winced. "That'll hurt. You're going to puff like a malterin, sir."

"Crix," Madine ordered. "You might as well get used to saying it." He took a breath, then held it as he dumped the drugs into the cup with some water. They sizzled, then bubbled, and after a few seconds, the smell faded. 

"Let me, sir," Perrin said, picking up a wedge of cloth. "Hate for you to make it permanent."

"I didn't know you cared." Madine let him stroke the drug on the side of his face. His flesh swelled altering the shape of his face. “Ouch.”

More gently, Perrin wiped down one side of Madine's nose that went an angry red. 

"We don't want you blind," Perrin said. "Just enough that they can't recognize you."

"It'll -- "

"Stop moving!"

Madine waited until Perrin stepped back. "It'll take more than this to hide me."

"That's why the painter," Perrin said. "Your hands, Major." He stroked the drug over the hands and they puffed up. "I think a shade   
of brown, and your hair as well. She'll make it look real."

"Did she do yours?" Madine asked warily. 

Perrin preened for a second, then laughed. "It's grand cover, sir. Gets me in most places. By the way, what do you have planned?"

"Planned?" Madine said airily, avoiding his eyes.

With a snort, Perrin washed the drug down the sink and tossed the rag into the battered refresher that sparked before disintegrating what it fed. "How much trouble are we going to make?" he asked more specifically.

"Depends on your connections," Madine said glancing at his changed appearance. "Depends on how many people we can order to do things."

"You're looking at him." Perrin said with an evil grin. "I've been waiting."

 

General Gabon, head of Coruscant Internal Security, felt that up to this moment, his service had been fairly calm. Just the usual smuggling and diplomatic blunders to smooth out. He'd been called when Madine was first reported missing, and he had acted on it promptly. 

Now he took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he entered the Emperor's tower. Behind him he heard Medra's teeth chatter. He hoped the man's nerve would hold. 

Despite all the years he'd spent on Coruscant, Gabon had never met the Emperor. He knew too many who had not come back. 

So he rode the Tower elevator with a great deal of trepidation despite the fact he'd done nothing wrong. Why so much interest in this Madine anyway? The man's barely come to Coruscant and the Emperor's now calling for him a third time?

They entered the main room where the Emperor, seated in his chair was staring out the window. He turned his hooded head towards them slightly but didn't move. Neither did two of the Emperor's desiccated assistants standing to one side, living statues, their attention on their leader. 

The officers saluted and stood at attention. 

Eventually, the Emperor swung the chair about to look directly at them. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabon saw Medra flinch.

"Where is he?" 

"Colonel Madine is missing, sir," Gabon replied. "We have had no contact with him after he left an apartment that he instructed Captain Allorn to rent."

Palpatine's yellow gaze shifted to Medra, who licked his lips. "The captain reported that the colonel left his coat and pants there, sir," he said. "We don't know if something happened -- "

"Don't be ridiculous," the Emperor cut him off. "Madine is a traitor. He has gone to the Rebellion."

Gabon felt as if the floor had vanished under him. He thought that he was tracking a trusted missing officer, not a turncoat. If he was a traitor, then why had the Emperor ordered him switched to the Coruscant garrison, and seen him twice? "Sir... if that's true, sir," he cringed slightly realizing he'd just contradicted the Emperor, "then we have to broaden our search in different ways. We were acting as if he'd been kidnapped -- 

"Oh, no," Palpatine purred. "He would be difficult to kidnap. He's very talented, General. Extremely."

"We did track his movements since arriving here and are looking into his communications. He has seen his ex-wife twice -- in fact, he had a long discussion with her husband, General Bonstable and dined with them as well the day before -- "

"'Wife,'" The Emperor's tone changed. "I'd forgotten her. What does Bonstable do?"

"Supply, sir."

"Indeed." The Emperor looked out the window again. "Supply. Find Madine, General. Look everywhere on Coruscant from top to bottom. Use every trooper you have. Bring him to me alive. He must be alive."

"Yes, sir!" Both officers saluted and retreated. Gabon hoped it didn't look like a rout but he was glad to be out of there.   
Madine a traitor? Gabon felt a smile come to his face when the elevator door had closed. That'll be something to pass on to the others at lunch. And that young sprig -- "Allorn was the last to see him, wasn't he?" Medra nodded. "Question him first."

 

Jelda was on her knees, staring at the extensive parquet floor of the Emperor's office, too afraid to look up. She clenched her fists in the folds of her semi-transparent morning dress. She hadn't planned on leaving the apartment until the afternoon, but the Stormtroopers hadn't let her change clothes.

"Where is he?" the Emperor finally asked. "Madine."

"Crix?" she said in blank astonishment, raising her gaze for a second then dropping again. "I haven't seen him since my party, sir. I've no idea where he is."

"Did you know they were lovers?" the Emperor asked waving his hand. The holoscreen came to life.

She glanced at the figures, then straightened and watched, appalled, at the explicit and brutal scene that appeared. "Lovers? He lied to me!"

The Emperor laughed. "And for a long time. Even before Alderaan."

"Before I divorced him?" she said in disbelief "I didn't keep in touch after that."

"But you saw him here. Your husband pinned on his new rank."

"Yes, but Crix hasn't been in touch since the party," she explained again, looking towards the Emperor. That she was speaking the truth gave her courage. She stopped shaking. "He never kept in touch even when we were married. He was busy on your duty, sir."

"Which Bonstable isn't?" Palpatine said softly. She felt a chill of fear that went to her bone marrow. "Or is he, Lady Jelda?"

"Your Navy is well supplied, sir," she replied. "I've heard of no problems, sir -- "

The Emperor cut her off. "You're high in Coruscant's society, aren't you? Do you ever hear any criticism of me?"

They both ignored the brutal sound of a beating coming from the holoscreen. 

"No, sir. No one dares," Jelda answered with a feeling of relief. "Not a whisper. I hear of other government officials not doing what they should, gossip of the Fleet -- "

She realized that, with deliberate slowness he was walking toward her. Jelda watched him come closer, mesmerized, unable to continue, until he stood, towering, over her slight form. 

He was so close the dusty smell of his robes cut through the scented air in the room. Jelda looked up into his eyes and froze. 

"I will use you," he said menacingly. "Your gossip reports will be presented weekly to General Gabon. All those little tidbits you hear among your friends, you report to him. I expect to have a report. As for your husband -- " Bonstable? No, not Dren! " -- he is dependent on you to keep him safe. Tell him nothing about this!" He touched her check enough for her to feel the nails, then stepped back. 

She nodded, keeping her eyes down, but shaking like a leaf. Out of the corner of her eye as she did, Jelda saw the holoscreen for a second, and absorbed it was now showing now, the half-naked Mothma on the floor of her apartment, Crix turning on his heel stalking away. "Yes, your Excellency," she whispered. 

He walked back to the window. "Go."

Shaking, she got to her feet and fled. All she wanted to do was get out of there, back to Bonstable, her apartment, and think about what happened. 

Coming out of the tower, she was suddenly very aware that she wore a semi-transparent gown and had no way of getting home. She bit her lip, determined not to provide even more of a display. But in front of her there was a huge expanse of empty parade ground baking in the sunlight. 

"Jelda," someone called, and she looked back suddenly terrified that it was Palpatine or one of his drones. 

"Dren!" He was here, coming to her. How?

Her husband threw his arms around her. "I was called -- told to come here. Let me take me home."

Tell him nothing about this, she heard the Emperor say in the back of her mind. She would have to spy on Bonstable to keep him safe. 

He hugged her. "I have some bad news for you about Madine."

"Is he dead?" she asked hopefully.

Bonstable stared at her for a second. "I don't know." He slid off his jacket and put it around her. "But it seems he beat Mon Mothma badly that day, Jelda. He was the cause of her suicide.”

"I..."

"Did he ever hit you?" Bonstable asked gently. "You never told me."

She stared at him, then looked down. That lie, told in the shadow of the Emperor's tower, caught in her throat. "I... He beat her?"

"A holo has been released onto the common channels of HoloNet so people will recognize him and turn him in," Bonstable continued, leading her away. "It's brutal. I've seen it. She commits suicide in it. What came out earlier was only a clip."

_Crix never touched me in anger. He wouldn't touch her. In the first holo she didn't have a bruise. The Emperor's lying._  
Jelda shivered, her bare feet icy cold. "That's terrible. You have to find him, Dren." _Otherwise, the Emperor will get you killed somehow. Crix, I'd kill you myself right now!_

"The entire garrison is looking for him," Bonstable reassured her. "We'll find him soon. Don't worry. I won't let him bother you."

 

Mon Mothma ran her hands through her dark hair, ignoring how it must look, and sighed. The table in her small office on the command ship was covered with various report chips and none of them good news. 

Hoth had been a huge blow to the Rebellion. The destruction of the computers was the only good that came out of it but she suspected Vader, and his rabid pup Veers, were working on reconstructing them. 

There were already signs of people coming to join them. She just wished that her intelligence chief was a bit more like... well, just a bit more. Issahn was all that Rieekan had said, and totally swamped. He was doing his best which wasn't good enough. 

The door buzzer went off. Mothma checked the screen and conquered a sigh. "Come in," she called and the door opened for General Issahn. Hard on his heels was someone she hadn't expected.

Typho had fallen into easy friendship with the Rebel officers since the return of the SUN RAIDER. Her escape from Coruscant had been the story of the week, a positive note against the debacle of Hoth. They admired him. 

"You'd better see this, Commander," Issahn said. He put a small holoblock on the table in front of her.

"What is it?" She asked, reaching out. 

"It's from Coruscant," Typho said flatly as she activated the desktop projector and dropped the cube in. He pulled up a chair opposite her, adding, "It's on HoloNews.” 

There was little she could manage to say at first, although the taped beating and rape made her cheeks burn. "But… but… this didn't happen!" she protested out loud at last, her voice thick with shock and embarrassment. "What is this, Typho? Issahn?"

"Multi-leveled meaning, Senator," Issahn began. His pedantic tone reminded her that he'd been an academic on Alderaan before coming to them with Dodonna. The style didn’t mix well with the violence in front of her. "It smears your reputation, it demeans your death -- "

"It's a goad to dig your friend Madine out of down port," Typho cut in, "by getting his picture out in the common view. The Emperor's put out an order to find him, bring him in alive. Madine's going to be hunted down."

"This is disgusting," Mothma murmured watching the end of the holo report. "I can’t believe anyone would believe--" 

"This identifies him as the reason you committed suicide. We haven't announced anything yet about your survival," Typho reminded her. "They've defining you as a weak woman and him a murderer. Someone will turn him in if only for the reward."

"Why haven't they found him already?" Issahn asked over her denial. "I can't believe that they are so incompetent."

"And he's good at what he does," Mothma said. 

"I'll agree with that," Typho said dryly. "The question is what do you want to do about this?"

"Tell the galaxy I'm alive," she said. "That I escaped -- "

Typho interrupted waving towards the holoblock. "But nothing about this. Don't dignify this with comment."

"That -- " Mothma pointed, "I can refute without saying a word."

"We'll insert your statement into the HoloNet to explode when we want," Issahn spoke up again, his voice brisk, and clearly relieved, that he had something concrete to work on. "I'll get to work on it."

Mothma raised an eyebrow at Typho after the door shut behind Issahn. "Will it work?"

He shrugged. "I suspect down port's already discounting it, but the visuals may leave traces in people's mind. Your major's probably causing a lot of talk and trouble."

"I hear he was a colonel before he fled," she commented. "Can't we get him off? He's the kind of officer I need right now."

"He's the kind of officer Issahn will never be," Typho said brutally. "But when the Emperor catches up with Madine, you know what will happen."

"Thank the Gods that Vader's chasing elsewhere," she murmured. "It's a mess, Typho."

"Yes. By the way, I'm leaving," he said, straightening, standing more at attention, more the officer. 

She stared at him incredulously. Why? What was the man thinking? "Typho, you know as well as I do that you should have Issahm’s job."

Typho shook his head. "Not my field. I think there's a lot more I can do out of here." 

After a moment of silence, of consideration, Mothma agreed, "Very well. Where are you going?"

"Coruscant."

"Don’t be a fool," Mothma said bluntly. "The Emperor will kill you."

"Don't count on it," Typho replied. "Besides, your major needs some help, and I know a way of doing it."

"You've have a death wish just like Crix!" 

Typho grinned. "He's a survivor, Senator. So am I. So's Padme's son, Luke."

Mothma cocked her head. "You met him, then?"

"Met him, and his friends when the MILLENIUM FALCON docked about ten days ago. Not in great shape then but he's young -- he'll recover."

With some irritation, Mothma remembered a report about the boy and Medical but Issahn's reports were so mixed up that she would have to search to find it. "So you think that Luke is -- "

"He's Padme's son, yes. He looks like Anakin back then but Luke’s got her spirit and stubbornness in him."

"You liked him?"

"Yeah. Pity I'm leaving."

"You can stay," she offered, spreading her hand in the air, offering him whatever place he might want. "Get to know him better -- "

"I'm going back on the SUN RAIDER."

She laid her hand flat in surrender. "Which I hope has another name by now!"

Typho relaxed as well. "New papers, new paint, even a new look," he said. "Even Esch doesn't look the same. They're very good on this sort of thing."

"Smuggling dying senators -- "

"Resupplying your Rebellion. I’m leaving in two hours." Typho pointed to the block. "Keep to the high road, Senator, because that's where you're needed. I'll take care of down port. There's a lot more sympathy down there than you might think."

"I hope so or Madine will be turned in before you get back."

"With the Emperor's reward? He's sure to be," Typho said soberly. A light flashed on the room's comm panel. "I think Issahn's ready for you."

She rose. "I have to dress for this. Something special."

He grinned. "Show them the truth. That's more powerful that anything the Emperor's got. Take care, Senator Mon Mothma. I'll see you when you come back to Coruscant."

 

The Emperor looked over the city and saw smoke rising in two places amid the city lights. He knew that it meant -- even more disruption. 

He felt a rare stir of anger. He hadn't been this alive for years, and he half-resented it. This wasn't a disturbance in the Force. That told him of a future in which his empire stood for thousands of years, and that Madine and Mon Mothma both died slowly in his Tower. But the smoke on the horizon was reality and it bothered him.

She chose her man well, he thought, not stirring from where he stood. Madine is a formidable foe.

The door slid open. He heard the heavy boots and creaking leather that denoted the arrival of Darth Vader. 

In the window's reflection, the Emperor saw him go down on one knee. "Master," Vader said with the breathy tone that Palpatine had given him so many years ago.

"Lord Vader. I have read your report."

"Yes, Master. Skywalker has escaped -- "

"For this time. He will grow strong and well-trained, and then he will be ours," the Emperor cut in. Then he lied. "I have seen it."

"Yes, Master."

"But now, I have another problem, a lesser problem," Palpatine said. "Come here."

Vader walked to beside him. "Problem?"

Palpatine waved his hand toward the two plumes of smoke. "A former Imperial officer, Madine, has become a rebel. He is causing trouble. His fellow officers, the home garrison, haven't been able to catch him. Find him and bring him to me alive."

"Yes, Master." Vader turned on his heel and marched out. 

The Emperor laughed softly as he watched the sun set. By now that tape of the beating has been accepted as a truth. Mon Mothma will find it hard to overcome that in the galaxy's mind. 

"And Vader will finish the job. "

 

Madine thought the dark hair and skin looked good on him. If nothing else, it meant he could blend into the downworld much easier. His blue eyes were brown now, and although the swollen flesh was fading, he wasn't easily recognizable even to himself. 

Tired, and very hungry, he moved aimlessly around the city planet, staying out of the way of the Stormtroopers. The search was starting to get to the levels where Madine and Perrin had found new rooms every couple of days. False identification, easily procured, had kept them safe so far, but Madine didn't want to count on it for much longer. 

Right now, he had just finished laying a small segment of explosive along a pipe that was mostly hidden in the dark of the thirtieth level. By tracking the plans through a public information system, he knew that this was a power conduit; destroying it would black out part of the city just as the workers changed shifts. 

Disrupt, destroy -- surgical strikes. 

_I wonder how long I'll keep this up,_ he asked himself as he slipped into the Falling Salt.

He knew the answer as soon as he thought it. He could keep this up until Darth Vader came back. Vader would ruthlessly purge the city to find Madine, and even the former Special Forces officer didn't want that carnage on his conscience.

He spotted Perrin standing at the bar, staring, slack jawed, at the latest HoloNews. The Salt's main holoscreens faced the whole lounge, and there seemed to be some kind of wagering going on. The voices were rising, as people turned to the screens. Madine wondered what was going on. 

Turning, he froze. It was him and Mon Mothma doing what had never happened. 

Swallowing hard, Madine made his way over to Perrin. The crowd was roaring with applause. Some of the women eyed the holo speculatively -- he wasn't sure for instructional uses or as examples of what not to do, or to put up with. The men's expressions went from approval to distaste as the holo went on. The crowd quieted. When she committed suicide, the room was almost silent -- then the conversation started again, low-voiced discussions.

"'It's fake," Madine muttered finally reaching Perrin who pushed a drink over to him. 

"Shh!" Perrin said looking around. "It's been playing for a couple of days -- the Salt's just running it. Kinda the talk of the town."

Madine swallowed half the liquor, then looked at the screen which was repeating the segment. He watched it with a clinical eye, noting the careful use of fakery and the outright brutality. By the end, he commented, "Too flexible."

"You said it," another denizen of the bar commented overhearing him. "Humans can't do that kind of thing -- not at that age. Something's not right."

"Shut up!" a barfly whispered. "The place is full of the Emperor's men. You want to be picked up?"

Madine cocked an eye at Perrin who looked tense. "Full?"

"I told you that -- "

The holoscreen flashed three times, bright shots of color over the crowd, and then coalesced into an unscheduled broadcast. 

Mon Mothma, wearing a sleeveless gown of regal gray, smiled. "People of the galaxy, I am Senator Mon Mothma. The Emperor ordered my assassination," and the broadcast faded into a clip from the government channel of her being taken aboard the SUN RAIDER, looking unbruised as someone in the crowd noted aloud, "The attempt failed. I am alive. The Rebellion is alive. And we will free you from the Emperor's lies."

She went on but Madine tuned it out. Imperial communications would snuff it as soon as they found the broadcast bomb but the Rebellion had made its point. She was alive and her appearance refuted the battering broadcast. He grinned noticing that she still had those lomar earrings as well. Madine could feel the necklace rolled up in a piece of cloth, a small lump in his jacket pocket. That was one item he wasn't leaving behind for the Emperor. 

He heard all sorts of murmurs around him. One man was starting to take bets on which was true -- the beating or the broadcast. All sorts of drunken statements were being made. Credits were being waved.

The broadcast flicked back to the holo of the beating, but no one was paying much attention to it. The normal activity in the Falling Salt, that of teaming up for a night, started.

Then the screens flashed again, and everyone looked expectantly.

Darth Vader's image filled the screen, and there was a gasp of fear, a rumble of people moving back in instinctive fear. 

"I have returned to Coruscant," the ominous voice declared. "I am looking for this man," and a holo of Madine, in a crisply tailored uniform, appeared, every blond hair in place under a perfectly canted cap. "Colonel Madine is a traitor to the Empire. Turn him over to me, and I will not have to come looking for him. He may look like this." A holo of Madine with the dark skin and hair came up. "You have a day to turn him over to me." The holoscreen flashed black, then went back to the beating.

"Maker, put the shaved Wookiees back on!" someone in the crowd yelled, an edge of hysteria in their voice. "Anything but that lie!"

"The Empire wants you to see that truth, the truth," the bartender said, her voice carrying. "Over and over again. Remember that!"

Madine glanced at Perrin who was scanning the crowd. "Got plans for the night?" he asked lightly, his hand playing with the glass. Both knew their time had run out.

Perrin glanced at him, then beyond, a fraction of a second before Madine felt someone land, dangerously close, on the stool next   
to his.

He turned and saw Typho. 

The man no longer had the eye patch that had distinguished him. In its place, over both eyes, were sparkling lids, the latest fashion on-planet. He wore an ornate suit -- actually, he fit in perfectly in the brothel where Madine's more muted palette stood out. "I'm told that you are the best," Typho said sweetly, his hand gripping Madine's shoulder. "Your friend told me to wait for you."

"Did he now?" Madine said, swiveling so he could see Typho more clearly. "What are you offering?"

"More than you can handle," Typho replied. "I've got an speeder outside -- "

"How delicious," Perrin cut in looking around. "There seem to be troopers suddenly," he added quietly. 

The Stormtroopers started moving through the crowds, causing eddies. The gamblers hid their marks, turning the games from illegal to innocent in a fraction of a second. One troop headed up the circular stairs to check the private rooms. 

"Time to go," Typho said, his hand still gripping Madine's arm. "Somewhere private."

"Delighted," Madine replied, his eyes meeting Typho's glittering gaze. "I hope you can afford this."

Typho smiled and loosened his hand. "I've unlimited funds tonight."

The two of them moved through the crowd towards the door. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Madine saw Perrin shake a bottle, and fiddle with the top, tossing it towards the bartender. She screamed and ducked. 

The bottle hit the liquor behind the bar and burst into flames and shards. Other bottles exploded. The crowd panicked and the Stormtroopers were overwhelmed as people fled in all directions. 

Outside, Madine and Typho headed down the line of speeders towards an older dark-colored model. It didn't take a minute for Perrin to join them, his hair looking singed by the pyrotechnics. 

"You're not going to be invited in again," Madine commented after they'd gotten in the speeder. 

"The bartender recognized you," Perrin said soberly. "I saw her look from you to the screen. That's why the troopers."

"Your face is now all over the planet," Typho said. "I saw it up at the spaceport I came in on."

Madine's curse was vicious. "We can't go back to the doss then."

"Everything's cleaned out," Perrin confirmed. "They must have caught the painter. Don't know if they know me -- " 

"Doesn't matter," Typho said. "I know a place that's safe."

"Safe from Darth Vader?" Madine asked. 

"From him most of all." 

 

They flew into a major traffic lane that ran alongside the huge expanse of the parade ground leading to the Emperor's Tower. In front of the dark column was a new array of lights, the kind that hadn't been seen on Coruscant for years.

"A Star Destroyer," Perrin said looking down. "I always heard they could fit one on the parade ground."

"Troopers disembarking," Madine cut in. "Reinforcements for the garrison -- "

"Looking for you," Typho finished. They slowly sank out of the traffic lane, narrowly missing air taxies that had the same thought. Finally, he reached a level where he could turn and head south away from the Presidential Palace, down among old legislative buildings. They glided around the now abandoned Imperial Senate, and headed west. 

Finally Typho aimed the nose of the antique speeder for the city's depths and they dropped, level after level until the lights showed the dim, blackened walls of the ancient city. 

"From here we walk," Typo said, landing the car on an abandoned repulsor pad. "This is automated. They'll have to do some work to find this one."

"They'll do it," Madine said, sounding tired. "With that many troops -- "

"It'll still take time," Perrin interrupted this time, climbing out after his officer. "We can try and find transport off-world -- "

"Huh," Typho scoffed, leading them away. "No one would take you even for all the credits in the Galactic treasury."

"Then what do you have planned?" 

"I know where there's a ship that can take you off," Typho said. He pulled a slim intensity torch from the back of the speeder. "Keep close by me -- it's going to be dark."

Madine followed him, Perrin just behind, through a door into a factory where automated machinery chunked away in a dismal fashion. Typho led them through two more hallways, then down a set of stairs, into what looked to be an abandoned building. After a few second, the path led to a dead-end hallway with a door at the far end. Typho pressed his hand to a modern lock, and it sprang open to show another black corridor. 

The men exchanged dubious looks. 

"What is this place?" Perrin asked.

Typho replied, "Now we climb. Are you all right, Major?"

"You do look exhausted," Perrin said. 

"Hungry. I missed dinner,” Madine replied.

Typho laughed. "I've got food. Come on."

Silently, they walked along the worn and stained dura-cement, until they came up to a wall with metal rungs set in it. Typho pulled himself up five rungs, then pressed his hand on a door lock. It opened to another dark room.

"We're almost there," he promised, looking back. "But keep quiet."

They climbed through more corridors of darkness until suddenly up to a larger space. It had the feel of an expanse, and was the coldest. The air was stale and dry, and their boots echoed. 

Perrin bumped into Madine who hissed a warning. 

Typho pointed the torch beam around the room. It was a vast and empty corridor with a wall of windows that were sealed on the outside with heavy metal shields. Not a trace of light could be seen but theirs. 

"Where are we?" Madine asked finally, his whisper echoing. 

Without a word, Typho led the way, flicking his torch from side to side. Madine and Perrin kept on his heels. They passed row after row of dry fountains. 

Walking through an arched doorway, they saw a huge, sealed set of doorways to the left. To the right was a set of stairs that led down to a large hall. Huge pillars ran along each side of a polished marble floor that glinted irregularly and seemed to extend endlessly beyond the light. 

"Welcome to the Jedi Temple," Typho said finally, sending the beam of the torch into the vastness. 

Behind him, Perrin gasped. 

Madine had to remind himself to breath. This was the largest undiscussed place on the planet. No one came here, no one even dared to enter the air space around it. The Emperor had made it clear that this was banned. 

He took the light from Typho's hand and walked down the stairs, shining the beam along the ground. His feet disturbed dust. He found black stains on the marble wherever he turned. 

"So many of them died here." Madine no longer kept his voice down. He knelt on one knee and touched the edge of one stain. Then he rubbed his fingers on his worn pants as if the blackness had transferred to them. "Look. Disintegrator marks. They used the machines to destroy the bodies and the burns etched the marble." 

"The marks are everywhere," Typho said, his voice reverential. "Large, small -- "

"Small?" Perrin asked.

"They trained their apprentices here," Typho explained. "Every planet, every race in the galaxy had Jedi and this was their hub, their history -- "

"And their death," Madine said, standing up. "Why are we here, Typho?"

Typho came down the stairs and took the light from his hand. "Follow me."


	5. Is there an escape?

Uneasy, Perrin trailed behind the other men. He wished there were more light because he'd like to avoid the stains, but that seemed impossible to do. He could see small hunter-droids come down to check them out, but Typho pulled out a controller and sent them away. 

It was another long walk, and up more stairs to a hanger level. Fragments of wrecked ships littered the ground, tumbled astro-droids lay on their sides. More stains. The Empire had been thorough.

The hanger doors were also sealed on the outside from what Perrin could see, and he wondered what Typho had in mind.

"I came here about fifteen years ago," Typho said suddenly. "I wanted answers to some questions. I began to explore. They had some 'droid guards but I put them out of commission, put in my own. No one came back to check. The Empire ripped out the computers, and just abandoned the building."

"Sealed and forgotten," Madine said looking around. 

"The Emperor began building the new palace just after the war ended, and this place -- well, I thought they'd wreck it, but they didn't. When the sun comes up, there is some leakage -- you'll see better. But the major power grid was cut off, so I brought my own power in," Typho continued. "And I found this."

They followed him to the back of one of the hangers where three ships were crumpled together. The rounded shapes looked odd to Perrin but he heard Madine take a sharp breath. 

"They're not flyable," the officer said flatly, stepping closer. 

Typho ran his light over the wreckage. "Nope, not these. This one."

To one side was a restored two-man fighter. Perrin didn't want to think how long it must have taken Typho to rebuild it, but it seemed to be complete. Even an astro droid was in the wing portion. 

"Does it work?" Madine asked, suddenly interested. "I used to see these fighters when I was a boy. It's a Jedi ship."

"It should," Typho should. "I put it back together, put the 'droid in, and ran it one day. The diagnostics were good, everything worked and then I heard the sound of something outside the hanger doors. Sounded like fighters coming in. I shut everything down and ran."

Madine cursed. "So, we don't know if it fixed."

"I got enough out of it to know it flies, and that it can do hyperspace," Typho insisted. "But not much more than one jump." His hand stroked it proprietarily. "It's the Padme."

"Who?" Perrin said breaking into the silence that followed. "Why that name?"

"I worked for Padme Naberrie," Typho replied, his voice rough. "I lost her."

"She was the other Senator," Madine said. "The one in the report."

"The one you used to get me to help yours off the planet!"

"It was in your file, Typho," Madine argued. "But no name. Just that you were recalled to Naboo, then left their service."   
The two men stared at each other.

Perrin cut into the free-floating cloud of conflict and anger. "Well, you can both discuss it later," His prosaic tone brought them back to ground. "If it'll fly, Major, it'll save us."

"If I can fly it," Madine murmured pulling himself up to look into the cockpit. "Things have changed in twenty-five years."

"You'd better be able to," Typho said briskly, matching the other man's offer of humility with a show of confidence in return. "Now, I promised you dinner."

"Great," Madine said swinging down off the ladder. "I'm starving."

"You didn't do anything else but set explosives, did you, sir?" Perrin struck his best nagging aide pose. 

Madine sighed, the perfect model of a patient officer. "Sergeant, it took more work than I had planned." 

Typho cocked his head. "You have something going?" 

"Concentrated attack. All over Galactic City. Five attacks set for tomorrow afternoon."

"I set two. You set the others.” Perrin turned to Typho. “That's why he hasn't eaten." 

“It'll drive Vader wild," the captain laughed. "Five attacks, and you can't be found."

"Right now," Madine rubbed his hand over his eyes, "I'd settle for some food. Did you eat, Perrin?"

"Yes, sir, I got to the Salt early and had dinner."

"Let's go to the kitchen," Typho picked up a small pot, unscrewed the top, sniffed, then nodded. He recapped and stowed it in his jacket. "Come on." 

"Kitchen?" Madine asked, eyeing him as they followed. 

"Even Jedi ate. And they had water reserves here too that weren't punctured," Typho called back. Madine swung off the wing and followed, Perrin bringing up the rear. 

 

Typho led them back into the building and down several levels until they came to a common room with doors to apartments on one side, blocked windows on the others. He went over to a portable power source and switched it on.

Illuminated panels came up in the small kitchen area flooding the room with an inviting glow. 

"You moved in?" Madine asked, looking at the low couches and table.

Typho nodded. "I've been here on and off. I don't keep power on long so no one has noticed. Besides, outside those shields is a high electric area so mine hasn't been noticed, I think." 

"What else is in the building?" Perrin asked. 

"Everything but the bodies," Typho said. “They left the disintegrators too. The place is rigged to kill any Jedi that might have survived and come back." He paused, remembering. "I found an Imperial who helped set it up a year after they were purged. He was running away from his troop but got shot down just before I was going to meet him a second time with the rest of the credits. Died instantly."

"It's a mausoleum," Madine murmured, looking around. "A lethal one too." 

Typho tossed the pot he'd picked up in the hanger at Madine. " This'll take off the paint. Get cleaned up. You too, Perrin. They'll have you both identified from the Salt. "

Madine eyed it dubiously. "Solvent?"

"Dilute it down good and scrub," Typho advised. "There's some clothes in the outer room," he waved to the right, "Basics -- not much more."

"Considering the temperature," Madine murmured, "I think I'll keep the jacket."

"You don't want --"

"If Vader's hunting us, Captain, it doesn't matter how we look."

Typho grunted. "I suppose so." They both knew the other was right and it didn't matter much. Madine shrugged and headed for the other room. With a shake of his head, Perrin followed. 

Typho grinned ruefully. He was sure Madine would be out fast -- the major was hungry. And Perrin had more paint to clean off.

Vader, Typho considered as he dug out meal packs, Vader has to be distracted if we're going to get off Coruscant. There's only one way. Should I tell them about it?

Before long, he heard footsteps. Madine came in, rubbing dry his hair, which was blond again with only random streaks of dirt brown coloring to match his half-grown patchy beard. He'd discarded the brown contacts and wore dark blue pants and a sleeveless tunic that showed his muscular arms. His feet were bare. He looked thinner than Typho remembered. 

"Food?" Madine asked, draping the black jacket he carried over the back of a chair. 

If he was still that cold, he needed food and sleep. And boots. Typho pointed to the rations on the counter, asking, "Perrin?"

"Wallowing in hot water," Madine grinned. He activated the heat pack on one, then on other. He barely let the first finish warming, before tearing it open. "This is good," he said between bites. 

"You are desperate," Typho retorted. "I've had better food in down port dives."

"Haven't been eating regularly. Why'd you come back?"

Typho raised an eyebrow. "You have a problem with it?"

"Me? No. You saved us both. But why come back? If they find you, they'll drain you to find out about the Rebellion."

"Which isn’t much. I didn’t associate with them.”

It was Madine’s turn to look skeptical.

“I’ve my reasons for coming back," Typho told him, then he shrugged. "Besides, there wasn't much I could do there."

Madine paused in digging out a cracker. He didn't look up, just asked, "How is she?"

They both knew whom he was referring to. Typho was blunt. "She needs you. Hoth set them back. Took out too many of their good leaders."

"I'm hardly a leader," Madine mumbled around a mouthful of hot meat. "I can't see them trusting me with a scow."

"You'd be surprised. They know about--," Typho leaned back on the counter. He counted off the names he'd heard connected with the officer, "--Peles, Dantooine, Lannik, the Alderaani survivors. They know about you, Major."

"I didn't do anything," Madine snorted rudely, "except look away."

"Which you shouldn't have. And Mon Mothma -- that you didn't have to do that either,” Typho laughed softly.

"Yes, I did. That order was -- He shouldn't have done it. There should have been a trial. He shouldn't have asked me.”   
Madine looked up and Typho saw the fury, shock and pain; all that came with the loss of trust. "And he enjoyed it."

"I told you Palpatine was a sadist." Typho crossed his arms. "You're still alive though. He'll live to regret that."

"If we get out of here," Madine tossed the now-empty bag on the counter. "That tasted great. More?"

"You need sleep," Typho said, measuring the man's mood with his sagging shoulders. "You look like you need it."

Madine hesitated, then looked around the room. He took a deeper breath. "If I can fall asleep."

Somehow that didn't surprise Typho. "Nightmares?"

"Sometimes. Any ghosts here?"

Typho shrugged. "Only what you bring with you. Get some sleep."

Madine nodded. "You staying around, then?"

"My job's not done. I may catch some sleep too -- it's been a long day." Over the top of Madine's head, Typho saw Perrin step back into the shadows of the doorway. Typho waved to a corridor. "Down there’s some rooms that probably had humans from the clothing. Why don't you use one, Major? You'll get some light when day hits. The shields aren't totally sealed in there."

"And your light here doesn't get out?"

"Never has."

Madine nodded. "Perrin..."

"Leave him to me," Typho ordered. "Get some sleep."

 

Perrin waited until Madine had disappeared before coming out. He still looked slightly blue but most of the paint was gone. "I've never heard him talk about it," he said softly to Typho. 

"You know about the dreams?"

"I've been there when he wakes up. Everyone stays out of his way."

Typho laughed. "Yeah, I bet. Got any idea of what's next?"

Perrin cocked his head upward. "That ship actually flies?"

"According to the 'droid, yep. One blast through the door and you're outside," Typho said, then qualified, "it's got a hyperspace engine as well so as long as you get out of the atmosphere... That'll be the trick."

"It's all a risk," Perrin said. 

"You get one chance," Typho said holding up one finger. "The engine'll do one jump. Wherever you go, it'll better be somewhere safe."

"'You're not coming?" 

"I didn't come back here to bail you out. I came to get some answers. Getting you out is a frill."

Perrin nodded. "In that case... you think maybe go at the same time as the sabotage? Tomorrow night?"

"That'd be good," Typho said, his attention wandering for a second. "I can work with that deadline."

"Then I need to go back out," Perrin said firmly. "If we get one chance to jump, then I need to get a pick up."

Typho frowned. "You'll be leaving him here?"

"Oh, I'll be back. But I've got to talk to someone. It won't take long."

"We'll wait," Typho said, his doubt clear and loud.

"You get him ready to fly," Perrin shot back. "He's the danger, here, Typho. It's him that the Emperor wants. He's the risk. If I don't make it back, make him fly." 

"Well you know the deadline," Typho replied with a trace of sympathy. "I'm going to put a couple of hours in on the ship. Come along. Then I'll lead you out the faster exit." At the commons entry, he turned off the main power, plunging the room into darkness. Picking up the torch, he flicked it on. "Ready to go?"

Perrin slid off his chair, and slid on a dark jacket. "Lead on."

 

"M'Lord." Gabon was sure of his information. He was also sure that the black-leather clad helmeted man who stood at the end of the table wouldn't care for it. "Lord Vader."

Darth Vader stared at him. "Report, General."

"We have traced Colonel Madine's activities since he left the apartment to the downworld. We have questioned many of the inhabitants, found his latest rooms and his belongings -- "

"Where is he?"

Gabon swallowed. "We don't know. He was last seen at the Falling Salt," he waved his hand and the first holo he'd brought came up. "His disguise was penetrated by the bartender who also identified this man," he waved again, and a holo of Perrin appeared, "who has been seen with him fairly often."

Vader surveyed the holos, or so it seemed. "Who is he?"

"Sergeant Perrin, who was assigned to the colonel's squad and came with him here. He is from Naboo." 

"Naboo," Vader boomed, interrupting him. "What else do you have?"

"There was a riot and they escaped. Outside they were with this man," Gabon's wave brought up a very blurry holo of three men, "The trail goes dry there."

"Make it clearer," Vader ordered. "The holo."

Gabon looked back at Medra who had stood quietly behind him until now. The captain manipulated the image. 

Vader's breathing deepened for a second. "That man is from Naboo also. Concentrate your efforts on the Naboo quarter, General. His name is Typho."

"You recognize him then?" 

Vader turned sharply to Gabon, whose jaw tightened from biting down on a question he should not have made.

"I know him," Vader replied. "Find him. Bring him here. Dismissed."

The Dark Lord stared at the holos that the men had left behind. "Captain Typho. I thought you were dead," he said softly. He pressed the comlink on the desktop. "Send them in."

A group of five men, dressed in the uniforms of the Imperial Special Forces, entered and stood rigidly at attention in front of the table their eyes on him. 

"You were Madine's squad," Vader stated. "You, Crigo, are the leader now?"

The short stocky man stiffened. "Yes, sir."

"Where is he?"

"We just arrived, sir. We haven't been briefed on the matter."

Vader waved at the holo. "You recognize them?"

Crigo nodded. "Perrin and the major -- colonel. Not the third."

"All traitors," Vader said harshly. "Find them, Captain. Bring Madine in alive, the others I don’t care. You know him best. You will   
report to me alone."

"Yes, sir!" Crigo saluted. 

"General Gabon will make the arrangements. Don't disappoint me."

"No, sir!"

Vader waved and they turned as one and left. 

 

Perrin wasn't too confident about what he was doing, but he knew it had to be done. 

The HoloNet was full of Madine. The holo of him and Mon Mothma was still being run, but other pictures were up. Even some of Perrin in blue -- and he was glad that Typho had given them the cleaner. He could slip in among the common workers and not be noticed. 

Still, he could feel the noose tightening. There were Stormtroopers everywhere. His latest identification got him to the port, but only to where Angoslee was working on a 'droid. The Lannik's ears quivered when he saw Perrin but he continued to work. 

"Help me," Perrin asked directly. 

Angoslee glanced at him warily. "You're dangerous."

"They don't know about you. They won't."

The Lannik snorted, and blew. Dust rose from the 'droid. "You will never work properly,” he scolded it. “Better they buy a new one. The SUN RAIDER is being hunted. Your job connected them with the Rebellion."

"They knew what they were doing," Perrin said quietly. "You too."

Angoslee straightened up, looked around to see if anyone else was there. The room was empty. "What do you want?"

"Send a message for me. A package needs picking up in two days,” Perrin dictated, “at the Ridgeline post.” 

"Why should I?" 

Perrin stared at the Lannik, stumped. He shoved his hands in the pocket of the jacket. There really wasn't a reason for Angoslee to do it. "I... " Wait. He felt a small roll of fabric with a hard center in one corner in the right pocket. Perrin glanced down at himself, and with sudden dread, realized that he had picked up the wrong jacket. It was Madine's, not his. 

"I'll give you something," Perrin offered, hoping that whatever Madine had managed to keep with him through now was worth it. "Payment." 

The Lannik held out his hand.

Perrin pulled out the soft bundle, unrolled the fabric and gulped. He had uncovered a delicate Alderaani necklace, set with blue lomars. 

"This." he laid the necklace across the Lannik's fingers, telling himself that the Major wouldn't mind if the exchange saved his life. 

Angoslee stared at the jewelry, then up at Perrin. "You'd give me this?"

"It's all I've got."

An odd rumble came from the mechanic. "I know about Lannik," Angoslee said."You on Lannik. Trying to stop the fighting, backing him up when he came in. You, your friend, the hostage rescue. We remember you." 

Perrin paled. 

"Researched it. Researched him."

"Send the message, please, Angoslee," Perrin said desperately. "It all depends on you."

Angoslee stowed the necklace in a pocket. "I am off in several hours. I will do it then."

Perrin felt a flush of relief. The Lannik had never lied to him. He shoved the loose fabric back in his pocket. He’d explain what happened "Thank you."

"Go away."

 

Madine awoke in a half-light. The smallish room was illuminated by a handful of pinpricks of light where the shielding had deteriorated over the decades.

He sat upright feeling more refreshed than he had since landing on Coruscant. Checking his chrono he was horrified to see it had been hours. He put his feet on the cold floor, then hastily checked in the closet for some shoes. He found a pair of boots which were a little large but that he could live with. 

Out in the main room, the light bleed was strong enough to let him find several food packs left on the counter. Breaking one open, he carried it with him as he wandered up and down corridors, looking into rooms. 

It was a trip through the galaxy. The Jedi had come from everywhere. Evidence of thousands of worlds remained in the apartments where many beds were left unmade as their occupants reacted to whatever had happened in the building. 

Madine shook his head in dismay and moved on, crunching on crackers. So much killing. He remembered the first time he met Mon Mothma when she was attacked by two fake Jedi Knights in the days after the Purge. He had refused to believe her defense of the Order, but now, twenty years afterward, he had realized she was right. The Jedi may not have been perfect but as peacekeepers they were infinitely better than the Empire.

_And I should have known that years ago._

He found the main hall, and kept walking until he found elevators. Expecting nothing, he pressed the button for the middle one. 

The door opened. He eyed it. Why not? He stepped inside.

It creaked upward, stopped for a heart-stopping second, then continued, finally stopping and opening. 

Warily, hoping that the elevator wouldn't close behind him, Madine walked out. 

The circular room was full of daylight from windows along the rim. He didn't go any further. These windows hadn't been sealed.

As usual the sky was full of traffic, but TIE fighters roared by, disrupting the normal patterns. Madine had no doubt that the Star Destroyer was still at the Presidential Palace. At least it isn't Vader's own, he thought. That one wouldn't fit. He edged forward, seeing black stains on the ornate marble. The disintegrators had been here as well, clearing up the dead. Small Jedi, very small ones. So many of them. Why had they hidden here? He looked out the windows and saw the Presidential palace, tall and dark, in the distance. A glimmering of an escape plan of escape started to form in his thoughts.

Returning to the elevator, Madine went back down to a level where he supposed the hangers would be. After wandering for a half hour, he recognized the doorway from yesterday's visit. He walked through until he found to the same ruined fighters and heard the hum and tweeting of an astro 'droid. 

"Typho?" The man turned. He'd doffed one of the eye shields, which made him look a lot more as he always had. The fancy dress was covered with orange coveralls. He looked tired. "You got some sleep yourself, didn't you?"

"I got some," Typho said. "I've been running checks."

"I thought you said it would trigger alarms." In the pinprick light coming in the sealed hanger door, Madine could see the ship more clearly. "The current."

"Fully powering the ship, yeah, but the astro 'droid doesn't seem to trip them." Typho waved at the cockpit. "Get in. See how it feels."

Madine swung up the ladder and settled into the front seat. "Not bad. I recognize the controls... most of them."

"It's a three winger. Heavy but very agile. You'll have Perrin for a gunner."

Madine looked back. "Only Perrin?"

"I'm not coming." Typho held up his hand to forestall Madine's protest. "Don't. No argument. I've got things to finish here. Let's get you programmed." He came up the ladder, leaned into the cockpit and pointed to a sensor. "The Jedi turned out to have two kinds of ships. One directly linked to them, the other was more general. Touch it." Madine laid his hand on the sensor, and the console flashed, a ripple of color around the ship's interior. "It recognizes you."

Madine nodded. "Where's Perrin?"

"Said he had to run an errand. He'll be back before takeoff."

"And when's that?"

"When your bombs go off," Typho said briskly. "They're distraction. You blast open the doors, take off, and hope you can reach altitude before they shoot you down. Perrin will keep them at bay."

Madine winced. "You have faith in this ship."

"It's programmed to go where you're being picked up," Typho went on. "Perrin took care of that before he left."

"You two seem to have it all planned out."

"We do. Your man's pretty good at planning. Hah! You'd better learn fast, Major!"

"Yeah, I'd better," Madine murmured, sitting back. "I don't want to let Perrin down." 

"No, you don't," Typho laughed. "Now, look to your right. See the grid on top. We'll start with that and just keep going." 

 

Perrin was worried. He had been held up too long in two checkpoints and was still an hour away from where he had to go to find the hidden door that led to the Jedi Temple. He knew it would take over a half-hour to get in, and up to the ship. That left very little time before the bombs went off.

He moved through the crowds of home-bound workers, heading for the downward moving stairs, and felt that itchy feeling of being watched. 

I'm being followed. It's by someone who can follow me. Nobody but -- the team. Vader's called in the team. 

He actually felt better when he realized that. If they knew how he worked, he knew how they worked.   
But I'm not going to make it to the ship. Not if the team's following me. 

Perrin looked around casually but still didn't recognize anyone and continued on to another staircase. He decided to test his suspicions then. Boarding an air taxi, Perrin flew to another platform, paid off the driver, then hired another.

The next platform was closer to the Temple than he liked. The next itch he felt was more like a raking of his nerves. Someone was tracking him. 

Perrin ditched the taxi and ran through a crowd for a nearby staircase. The stun bolt hit him in the back and he sprawled semi-conscious on the dura-cement. Around him he heard boots and feet clatter noisily as the crowd pulled away, then pulled closer for a better look then retreated hastily as footsteps that were heavy with authority ran up. 

A hard grip turned him over, held him like a limp doll. "Perrin. Where's Madine?"

He stared, dazed. Cregor. I was right.

"Give him this," said another voice. Ginjer. "He'll recover faster." 

Cregor let him sag facedown, and Perrin assumed it was Ginjer who fastened his arms behind his back with manacles. They dragged him into a sitting position against the wall. 

Ginjer pushed the small injector into his skin. Perrin knew the drug. He'd be conscious in a few minutes and talking in the next.   
_I have to do something._ He kicked out clumsily. Taken by surprise, Ginjer kicked back, his boot’s tip digging deep in Perrin's thigh and he felt a spasm of pain that combated the numbness. 

"Ass," Ginjer said, his voice full of exasperation. 

"What do you expect from a rebel?" Cregor asked. “They aren’t known for brains.”

"He wasn't that much of an idiot -- "

Cregor snorted. "He and Madine have been at this for years! You saw Gabon's file from the Emperor! This bum's the one who Madine corrupted to do his dirty work. Hell, he might even been saved on Lannik for just that reason! Probably why Wirwooth died. I never thought that was suicide." Something flashed beneath his cuff, and he pushed the cloth back to get to the wristband. "Cregor."

"Report, Captain Cregor," said an authoritative voice. 

"Tell Lord Vader we've got Sergeant Perrin. We'll be reporting in a few minutes."

"Good. Medra out."

"We're drawing a crowd," Ginjer said looking around. "We can do this in the van."

They hauled Perrin to his feet. Intentionally he sagged, but they only cursed, dragging him off between them. 

_I have to burn time._ Perrin concentrated on the moment’s need. _An hour, maybe longer, and it will be too late to stop them from getting Madine. Good flying, Major!_


	6. Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A desperate escape

General Gabon's face was white as he came into the room where Vader walked slowly, deliberately, behind the bank of monitors and terrified technicians.

"General?" 

"Sir..." Gabon cleared his throat shakily. "We know where they are."

"Where?"

"All monitors on sector fourteen," the security chief ordered. Screens flashed with color, then showed a building where the lights illuminated the tall doors, ran up the sides of the towers and flashed from the windowed tops of each. A glow emanated from behind the sealed metal on the bottom levels. His voice recovering a semblance of control, Gabon described the obvious. "The Jedi Temple, my Lord. It's lit."

Vader glared at the monitor, then with a sweep of his hand and a flare of the Force, he knocked Gabon across the room. The dead general hit several of the technicians, scattering them.

"Tell Madine's team to meet me there," he ordered. "I'll do this myself." He stalked out, his personal staff following several steps behind him.

 

Madine spent his day getting acquainted with the ship and its astro 'droid which treated him as a particularly stupid Jedi trainee -- for which he was grateful if slightly embarrassed. Luckily, he found that most of the fighter’s basics were familiar. The pilot interface was different, and that's where he learned a lot in a short amount of time. 

He checked his chrono and saw that it was getting late. Where was Perrin? Gods, he'd give the sergeant hell when the man pulled in. Luckily, all Perrin had to do was fire the laser cannons, and he was a good aim. 

And where was Typho? The Naboo captain had vanished earlier, muttering something about power supplies. Absorbed in listening to the 'droid's instruction, Madine had waved him off. 

He stretched, reached down to fasten the jacket, and found the catch not where it usually was. He took a closer look. "It's Perrin's," he cursed, exasperated. "Dammit, where is he?"

The words echoed loudly through the wreckage in the hanger. Madine froze. He looked around to see if anyone had heard him. 

Time to find out what's going on. 

In the main hall, he saw that Typho's power supplies had been hauled down, and set up, to produce bright light to the middle area. Beyond that, the room was smothered in black shadows. 

The captain stood with his back to Madine at one edge of the light pool, his gloved hands fiddling with something on a makeshift framework. 

"What's that?"

"Wait." Typho fumbled, and then twisted a wire. "Wait. Got it. What are you doing down here?"

"Looking for you, looking for Perrin. We're running out of time."

Typho stepped back. "That's why you should be at the ship." Madine frowned, looking around him. "What are you up to, Captain?"

"Setting a trap," Typho said shortly. "We need a distraction."

"We've got one. The explosions. "

"Perrin's not back. If they've caught him, they know about the bombs," Typho said, turned to face Madine. "You know what they   
want."

"I'm a 'who'," Madine replied automatically. He tried to see what was topping the structure, but Typho stepped in his way. "So what do you have planned?"

As if something or someone had heard the words, all the lights in the Temple went on bathing the room in cool grays and blues. Madine felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. The building had come to life. "What have you done, Typho? How did you do this?"

"I didn’t. I don’t know what’s going on right now,” Typho said looking around. “I’ve set a trap to give you time.” 

"For whom?"

"Vader."

Madine stared at him in disbelief. "Vader? You're laying a trap for Darth Vader? Are you insane? He'll murder you!"

Typho shook his head. "He wants that," he said, stepping back. He pointed to an ornate ringed tube attached to the top of the framework "And when he comes to take it, I've set other traps. I'm not worried."

"He'll flood this place with troops and shoot you down before he takes that thing. What is it?" 

"Not here. He'll come alone. He knows what's in here -- he'll -- "

"He'll what? And why not? What do you know, Typho?"

There was a muted but clear explosion behind them. Both men knew it had to be one of the metal seals on the doors. 

Typho looked at his chrono. "You've got no time left. Get to her. She needs you and this time get your act together!"

Madine stared at him. "What are you talking about?" 

"Figure it out. You've got a second chance to get it right. Get moving!"

He did. Madine turned and ran. Something confused him, but it was something he knew that he could figure out later...if he lived long enough. He could hear the sound of rusty hinges being opened, a squeal that echoed through the vast empty building, and he ran faster going up the stairs two at a time. The hanger doors wouldn't have to be blasted open if he was lucky. If the Temple had power, he could just launch normally and run like hell. 

 

Lord Vader walked in, the team behind him.

"They don't work," Ginjer whispered to Cregor. "The nightscopes. I can't see a damned thing!"

Cregor nodded agreement. "Jammers in the building. Use your own eyesight. We've got light." 

At the top of the staircase, Lord Vader looked looking down the long hallway and turned to Cregor. "There's a hanger bay midway up. Go there. You will find Madine. Bring him to me alive."

Cregor took off. The others glanced from one to the other uncertain whether they should follow. 

Lord Vader took one step down then another. The lights in the room flickered on, shivers of blue and green going up the walls. Raising his hand, he curled his fingers, and the lights stabilized. Flashes of red went up drowning out the other colors. As soon as he lowered his hands, the light was solid red. 

"Welcome back, Anakin," said a voice. Something flared at the far end of the room, a solid bar of purple that erupted from the top of a framework. 

Ginjer saw Vader clench his hand. 

"Get outside!" the Sith thundered as he turned to them. "I will take care of this myself."

They didn't waste time saluting, just obeyed, fleeing the building not stopping until they stood at the end of the stone promenade. Their mobile command transport was still parked to one side, Perrin bound tightly in the back, stashed for later. 

"What now?" another trooper, Matson, asked. 

Ginjer shook his head. "We wait."

 

Madine got lost in the vast building. Forced to retrace his steps, he cursed under his breath, reaching the hanger just in time to hear heavy footsteps in the room. He dodged behind some of the wreckage, bending low to the ground to stay out of sight, amazed at how quiet the Jedi boots could be. 

He saw a familiar form crouched in front of him, and realized that Vader had called in Madine's own team to hunt him. That made them vulnerable. He knew them so much better than they knew him. 

And, he was desperate. Madine picked up a bearing and a small bar of iron pipe and walked around the corner, basically paralleling Cregor's steps. 

Cautiously, Cregor kept low, stalking along, his rifle-blaster held ready, but he couldn't see all the way around him.

Madine knew where the metal was unstable on that side. The small fragment he had thrown hit its target and the pile of ship wreckages slid, driving Cregor back.

He reacted instantly, firing his blaster. 

The pipe caught Cregor across the hamstrings. He yelped, the gun flying as he fell. Madine hit Cregor again, against the back of the knees, then tossed the pipe aside

His arm cut off Cregor’s and as the man blacked out, Madine whispered into his ear, "Remember this!"

He dropped him to the ground and ran for the ship. Dropping into the front seat, Madine buckled the straps and jammed on the head communicator. "Ready R2-W3?"

The 'droid hooted excitedly. Out in the bay, other 'droids chirped and the tech aides that had revived with the power surge, replied as well. "Let's go," Madine called, no longer trying to be quiet. The canopy closed tightly. The ship swiveled towards the bay doors.

The hanger doors opened and unexpectedly a ramp extended into the sky, propelling them out. With a roar, the fighter took off, spreading its triple wings as soon as it took flight, taking Madine by surprise, if not the ‘droid. It burbled happily.

 

Vader walked down the stairs towards the glowing purple-bladed lightsaber.

The room exploded as the hunter-droids fired at him from all corners. He countered them easily with the lightsaber

Then they stopped, sinking to the ground.

"Where are you?" he rumbled, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. "Where are you, Captain Typho?"

"Here, Anakin," Typho replied. "No need to drag me out. I'll come.’

"You must have known that this wouldn't work," Vader said. He beckoned.

“Anakin Skywalker. Darth Vader. The same man. I have a question for you."

"You? What?"

"Yes. What happened to Padme Amidala?"

"Padme..." Vader's voice was almost sorrowful.

"She left here pregnant. You were her lover -- "

Vader thundered, "I was her husband!"

Typho took a step back. "Jedi don't marry. Anakin Skywalker couldn't -- "

"We were married! And I killed her."

"I don't believe it," Typho said flatly.

They stared at each other as the purple blade glowed. The room's lights slowly changed from red to blue and green then back to red. 

"I killed her," Vader repeated in an angry voice. 

"I don’t believe it,” Typho snapped. "I saw you and her. You could have powered Coruscant with your love. How did you -- "

"I strangled her!"

Typho shook his head. "Who told you that?"

"My Master."

" 'Master?' Palpatine?" Typho said in disbelief. "And you believed him?"

Vader growled, and raised his hand. " _He is my Master!_ "

Typho raised his hand to his throat, gagging. He staggered forward, clawing at this throat, and collapsed on his knees. With a gasp, he fell forward on the marble floor, his legs kicking behind him. The room’s lights flared red. 

With a roar that shook the empty walls, the sound of a ship taking off rocked the building.

Vader spun around. "Madine!"

 

The fighter dodged across the city as Madine learned to fly. Even the TIEs seemed puzzled at the unique ship as it shot across the cityscape. 

Madine gritted his teeth, and sent the fighter into the highest of the traffic streams, scattering terrified commuters into a massive aerial traffic jam.

R2-W3 hooted a warning. Madine saw a display come up on the right side. Fighters after him. Someone must have told them that this was hostile. The TIEs came from above mostly. Below, the traffic was hopelessly tangled. 

_If I go out further to clear atmosphere, I'll get shot out of the sky._ "Let's lead them a chase!" he said out loud and the 'droid tweeted in appreciation. Madine aimed the ship down lower, forcing his way through the manic clutter, leaving behind as many broken layers of traffic as he could. 

The TIEs followed. 

Madine dodged under an ornamental floating lake, realizing seconds later that the repulsers holding it up might damage the fighter. The 'droid screamed a warning as the ship's power flickered, then stabilized. Madine aimed up and fired hoping to break through the membrane that held the artificial lake in place. 

It worked. The ship shot through a torrent of water into the air above leaving a cloud of steam in its air stream. Hit by a wave of liquid, the pursuing TIEs careened and several went down, smashing into each other and spinning out of control. 

Madine looked away from the happy readout that R2-W3 displayed. More fighters were coming out of nowhere. 

_Well, I knew this escape was unlikely to succeed._ He grimaced and aimed the fighter at the Emperor's tower. _And I can do one more thing for us all._

Then, suddenly, he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten there was a Star Destroyer sitting at the foot of the Emperor’s tower. 

Madine grinned. He began dodging over the infrastructure. Unlike the smaller ships, the Destroyer wasn't going to fire any of its big guns at the tiny fighter, not when the tower sat directly in front of its cannons. That ship wasn't going to destroy the Emperor.

But the TIEs were getting closer. 

Madine gunned his ship. The instruments told him where the tower's shields were and lifting the fighter's nose, he flew up the side of the dark building just short of the power fields.

_When I clear the spire, they're going to hit me. Well, just one thing to do._

He put his hands on the controls. "R2-W3. Go to light speed."

The 'droid gave a squeal of glee and flooded the cabin with white gas taking Madine by surprise, knocking him out.   
The sky of Coruscant faded from dark stars to streaks of light. The ship shook like it was being ripped apart. 

 

The shockwave rolled across the city. Power died as the impact of a ship going to hyperspace within atmosphere ripped across the sky. 

Jelda had been standing at the window watching the ornamental lake below go dry. TIE fighters roared dangerously close to the expensive apartment building and she flinched. 

She'd seen the strange fighter emerge through the membrane, shedding water as it flew across the sky, Imperial fighters following closely and firing. The only person she knew who would do that was Madine, and she hoped the fighters blasted him to bits.

_And even if Crix is dead, I still have to report to General Gabon,_ she thought miserably. _The Emperor won't allow me to not do it. I hate this!_ She saw the ship head towards the Presidential area and wondered if they'd catch him. 

It was a minute later when that she saw the sky shake and traffic shimmer that she realized what had happened.

With a scream Jelda fled to the door just as Dren appeared calling her name. They fell against the wall as the wave hit. The building shook, the walls groaning and the window blew open, the howling winds filling the room with rubble and smog before the emergency shields cut in. 

The small jets in Jelda's hair tried to combat the foul air as her husband held her tightly, the two of them huddled on the floor. 

“Crix,” she whispered.

"That damn bastard," Bonstable said, an appreciative undertone clear in his voice. "Gods, he's got guts." 

_Don't like him, Dren, don't admire him,_ Jelda prayed in her thoughts. Don't ever make me report you to Gabon and the Emperor. She whimpered, and he held her more tightly. 

"That will have destroyed the ship, Jelda," he said. "You can't do that with a fighter. He's gone."

"He's left a mess," she murmured.

Bonstable grinned. "That he has."

 

Ginjer saw the fighters tangling with the strange ship and knew somewhere deep inside him that Madine was in it. The major hadn't been their unit's best pilot but that ship was out flying everything around it, and the combination would be good enough.   
_We'll hunt the bastard wherever he goes,_ he thought clinically, looking around. _Traitors die_.

Lord Vader left the building holding something in one hand, and then waved his other. The huge bronze doors closed with a sound that reverberated across the platform. No one moved as he stalked by down the stone pathway leading to the city.

Ginjer counted heads. Matson, Kaoji, himself, Aoysut and Cregor... "Where's Cregor?" he asked.

The others looked around puzzled. "He went after the major in the hanger," Matson finally replied. "Lord Vader's orders."

Oh, damn. 

Ginjer pointed to the massive battle in the sky. "We know where Madine is. Didn't Cregor come out with us?" He looked back at the building. "He's in there."

A flash from the sky near the presidential palace brought the team about. They saw a tangle of Imperial ships rolling out of control and then the ripple in the air. 

"Shockwave!" Matson howled and dropped, the others following. The impact rolled over them, hit the front of the Temple and rolled back diminished.

Ginjer panted as he finally stood up. Vader had vanished but the other troopers and support vehicles below were scattered or tumbled. 

"He's gone," Kaoji muttered looking at the sky. "Tried to go to hyperspace in atmosphere."

"Must have wrecked a good part of the city there," Matson commented. "Well, he was always thorough."

"He's also a goddamn traitor and I'm going to bring his head to Lord Vader," Ginjer snapped. "Now we've got to find Cregor."

"How?" Kaoji asked looking at the closed doors. "We can't get through those, and I ain't the one asking for blueprints -- "

Ginjer snorted. "Don't be an ass. There's one person who knows how to get in and we have him." The team looked inquiringly at him, and he reminded them. "Perrin."

 

It took only a few minutes to reach their transport, which they found tipped on its side from the shockwave. They climbed inside and dragged out the dazed prisoner. 

"Madine's dead," Ginjer said baldly. "Got shot out of the sky." Something vulnerable flickered in Perrin's eyes but he said nothing. "We need your help."

"Cregor's trapped inside that damned building," Matson finished. "How'd you get in?"

Perrin's lip curled but he didn't reply. 

"Listen to me, you traitorous bastard," Ginjer snarled, clenching a fist. "Tell us -- "

Matson put his hand up. "Tell us, or we'll hand you over to Vader right now." 

Perrin flinched. "What happened?" he asked. "The ship -- "

"It got blown up," Kaoji said, cheered by the news. "Over near the palace."

"But what's going on?" Matson demanded of the team. "With Madine? What really happened?"

Ginjer turned brutally on his teammate. "You heard the briefing. Madine lied to us all -- "

"That's a lie," Perrin cut in wearily. "Whatever they told you was a lie. Until he was ordered to assassinate Senator Mon Mothma, he was loyal to the Empire."

The group stared at him, then at each other. "You seem to know a hell of a lot about this, Perrin," Kaoji said evenly.

"Right now," Ginjer insisted, "I want Cregor out of that crypt!"

"It's that all right," Perrin snapped back. "All the Jedi died in there. Slaughtered by the Emperor!"

"And I bet Cregor's dead too," Kaoji shot at Ginjer. 

"We don't leave people behind," he snapped. "If we hand Perrin over, we'll never get Cregor out."

"I'll take you in," Perrin said unexpectedly. Kaoji looked surprised. "Don't think the Jedi would want him anyway."

"And when you do, I want you to tell us what's going on," Matson said determinedly avoiding Ginjer's furious eyes. "Your side of it."

Perrin's grin was rueful. "Sure. Won't be what you've heard before.

 

On the other side of Coruscant, the BLESSED END freighter manned by five Corellians, with one Lannik passenger, sedately and legally took off, disappearing into hyperspace. 

 

Perrin hesitated when he reached the staircase that led upward to the hangers or down to the grand corridor. Where was Typho? 

The corridor was lit by the green and blue lights. It was serenely quiet in the building. There was the tiny barely perceptible hum of machine working, and now the great pillared hall was warm. 

"Where is he?" Ginjer asked, his gun held ready. The others were spread in combat formation but they obviously sensed no danger. 

"I... down here," Perrin said, leading the way. His hands were manacled in front because they had come by Typho's first route, the long one that demanded some agility. Breaking the security the Naboo captain had instituted on the door had taken time as well, and some of Aoysut's handiwork. 

The team came into the great hall. They walked up to the odd framework rigged at one end. 

Not far beyond, Typho lay, not moving. 

Perrin's heart sank at the sight. He'd hoped that Typho had escaped somehow and would save him. Now nothing lay between Perrin and Vader. 

"Where is he?"

"Looking for me?" came a pain filled voice. Cregor was crawling, dragging himself out of the shadows. "I think... he broke my knees."

Ginjer cursed, and waved his hand. Kaoji and Matson ran over to help. 

Cregor's face was wet with tears of pain as they carried him. 

"You down," Ginjer ordered kicking Perrin who fell to his knees. "How is he, Kaoji?"

The medic looked up from the readings. "Both knees shattered and some bad bruising. Dragging yourself down here didn't help, Cregor!"

"I want to know what's going on," Matson repeated his demand. He stood and walked over to face Perrin. "Shut up, Ginjer, let him talk!"

Who -- what -- would it hurt? Perrin told the whole story as he knew it, from Palpatine's first demand of Madine to the moment Perrin had been caught. 

"So you were the traitor," Cregor said his voice laced with pain and loathing. "You led him astray."

"Did it ever occur to you, Cregor, that this isn't a very happy galaxy?" Perrin countered. "We've gone back to Peles twice and it was hit more than once before that. The Alderaani have been exterminated -- oh, don't give me that crap about relocation, you know the truth. Tarkin didn't give a damn when he did it, and didn't give a damn about what happened next. They went to make spare parts or to the slave pens. The Rim is full of ship builders providing the Alliance," Perrin used the term deliberately, "with fighters despite all Veers' ravings about crushing the rebels! I wonder what it would be like to live in a galaxy without an Imperial Fleet enforcing joy and happiness, don't you?"

"A world like the old Republic?" Matson said cynically. "I heard tales of that. It wasn't safe, stable -- the Separatist movement was ripping it apart!"

"The Separatists started because the system was corrupt."

"And your new Republic will be better?" Matson jeered at him. "Don't be naive, Perrin!"

"It won't cook the Mon Calamari in their cities," Perrin shot back. "Or leave its troopers to die on Lannik because they weren't important enough to save!"

"Like hell it won't!"

"Madine doesn't -- didn't -- believe in this mythical Republic of yours," Ginjer said with a snap. "He did this all for that woman!"

"He did it because the Emperor ordered something that was contrary to the honor code that the Empire was supposed to have!" Perrin shouted. "The Emperor is rotted to the core. Can't you see you're following a madman?"

His words echoed off the walls.

The team stared at him, their faces closed and cold, and Perrin knew that he was going to die here. Nothing he could say would save him from the blaster bolts of his former comrades in arms. First Typho, then Madine, then me. The Emperor may be crazy but he's a survivor. Still, Perrin didn't drop his gaze. 

"I'm going to do you a favor," Cregor said abruptly, his voice thin with pain. He pointed to the metal mess in the middle of the room. "Tie him to that."

"A formal execution," Perrin said dryly. "How honorable of you, Cregor!"

"It's the best you're going to get," Ginjer snapped as he and Matson dragged Perrin over, slamming him against the makeshift framework. It sagged. They trussed his arms above his head. "We could hand you over to Vader."

Cregor dragged himself upright despite Kaoji's protest. "Give me a blaster. Line up, team." They obeyed.

"Sergeant Perrin," Cregor began, "you are a traitor condemned out of your own mouth. We will complete the job that Madine had been ordered to do -- execute Senator Mon Mothma as the traitor she is. We will capture Colonel Madine and bring him to the Emperor for trial." Despite the pain written on his face, Cregor raised his hand. The others stood in a line, their blasters held ready. "Get set! Point! Fire!"

 

The wrecked fighter drifted aimlessly in the empty space near Ridgeline. Two wings were gone on one side. The cockpit glowed faintly with only three lights. 

Outside, a small astro droid with no head casing blinked out an emergency code that hadn't been heard for twenty years. 

 

Flashing lights. Madine opened his eyes in a tight squint. He felt the warm air and heard the familiar sounds of a cargo hanger. He coughed. The tang of drug with which R2-W3 had flooded the cockpit to keep him in safe slumber until they were rescued, was heavy on his tongue.

He looked up, turned his head to either side. Four humans hung off the fighter's wings watching him closely, all with blasters in their hands. Above, on a platform, sat a crippled Lannik whose top knot was bright red and yellow. 

One man shook Madine's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Umm.. yeah," Madine said, hearing the lingering blur in his voice. He tried to straighten up. The harness came free, releasing him. "What... where are we?"

"Where you were told to come," came the Lannik's harsh voice. "We're your pickup."

Madine frowned. "Pick-up? Perrin got through then?"

"He didn't make it back?" the Lannik asked. "Pity. Good man."

"Yes. Yes, he was a very good man." 

With help, Madine pulled himself up right. If these were Perrin's contacts, they knew all about him. 

And if they've been in any bar on Coruscant, they can identify my face from that holo! He knew that even the puffiness from the drug had faded away. 

The younger man helped him out and down to the deck. "Your 'droid's still broadcasting some kind of emergency code."

The fighter was crumpled on its side, a sad ruin of Typho's loving work. Madine was amazed it had held onto its air control. He looked back at the broken astro 'droid. He'd miss the little one even though he thought it was crazy. "You'd better discard the ship -- wait." He looked around. "Do you have any explosives on board?"

A tall thin man standing by the nose raised an eyebrow and spread his hands inquiringly. 

"Leave them a little gift for when they pick it up," Madine suggested with a grim ugly tone. 

The man smiled.

 

The laser bolts flashed. Something burned his arm. 

A few seconds later, Perrin opened his eyes. He looked around. 

The team was crumpled into heaps on the stone floor, their armor still smoldering. 

A flicker caught his eye. Perrin looked over to see several small hunter-'droids rising from the ground. He realized that Typho's security was still working. The 'droids had taken out what they thought was a real threat -- men with energy weapons ready to discharge. 

_I don't believe it. I'm alive,_ he thought and began to struggle.

The frail framework broke after some concentrated yanking, and he pulled himself free. He hurt in every muscle. Madine's jacket was scorched on one arm.

He stepped away from the frame – and there were the piled bodies that had fallen upon each other. He stared at the team. Tears ran down his cheeks. A week ago he had trusted each and every one of them to keep him alive, and he would have died for them. Now they were gone. 

Even if they had been about to kill him, he cried for them. 

To one side, a more ominous movement made Perrin flinch. One of the disintegrators had come to life.

_Come to clean up the mess?_ The disintegrator moved closer.

He watched as the black machine hovered over Ginjer. With a puff, the man's body was gone and a pile of black dust lay on the newly-etched marble. It moved on. 

Perrin scrabbled for the handcuffs release seconds before the disintegrator reached Cregor. His arm felt like the nerves were on fire. 

"What do I do now?" he asked. 

This was the Jedi Temple. Their headquarters. Something here has to be able to help.

Something squeaked from the side, the sound of rusty machinery in movement and he turned, knowing he had no weapon, helpless.

Two 'droids floated up, an oval capsule following them. Their lights flashed blue and green, the colors that Perrin now unconsciously associated with the Jedi. The 'droids ignored the disintegrator as it came up to Matson's limp body. 

Perrin didn't move, his breath shallow. The shapes of med-droids hadn't changed that much in twenty years. Something still worked in the Temple. 

One 'droid turned to Perrin. "You are wounded," it stated flatly. 

His hand went to the singed-sleeve where the bolt had burned the jacket. 

"Come with us."

"They'll be back," he said, glancing at the now-diminished pile. "The Empire."

“He will not find us.” He knew they meant Vader. “Come along."

He put his faith in the words and fell in step with the 'droid, walking away from the roar of the disintegrator. He hoped he’d be gone before it reached Typho.

The captain’s search was over. Perrin hoped he’d found his answers. 

 

Mon Mothma had long ago trained herself to patience and it was being tried to an extreme. She knew what was happening in the ship’s hanger but until her Intelligence chief was satisfied, she’d have to wait. 

The door opened abruptly and Mon Mothma looked up in anticipation.

Issahn smiled. “We’re ready, Commander.”

“It’s really him?” She stood and came around the desk. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Issahm held out his hand. “We’ve checked these for any danger but they’re nothing – “

“But my lomars,” she said with a wide smile. How? Who? Someone would tell her everything. She fastened the necklace around her neck. “Take me down there, Issahm.”

“Yes, ma’am. 

 

The hanger was full of the normal bustle on a spaceship, from the techs in one corner to the pilots laughing in the other. The BLESSED END’s hatch was open. Gravie, with the captain standing behind his shoulder, was talking to the deck officer. Standing behind them, deeper in the ship, Madine could see security guards a little further on coming, across the open expanse. 

_Probably for me. Now what?_

The Lannik beside him grunted. It had been a constant companion, along with Gravie, as the BLESSED END cruised from port to port on business. The two weeks gave Madine time to assess what had happened on Coruscant, seen through the distorted lens of the Imperial HoloNews, and to grow out his beard.

The silent captain had sat in on many of the interrogations held between the Lannik, named Angoslee, Gravie and Madine. Madine didn't know what Esch thought of his unexpected visitor, but he hoped he approved. From what little information Gravie had dropped, the Rebels -- _the Alliance, I must remember that_ \-- respected Esch's opinion.

Security stopped at the bottom of the ramp and Esch beckoned to Madine.

Madine looked down the ramp and took a deep breath. He walked to the end of the ramp where Esch and Gravie were waiting, and throughout the hanger work stopped, every rebel's gaze was on him.

Then, with a flash of relief, he realized that the stoppage wasn't because of him at all but rather because of the gaggle of officials who were walking across the deck towards the ship. 

Madine knew the rank markings used by the Rebellion. It had been part of his training. The man in front was a general and there were several other guards. 

Then they stopped, facing him. The guards stepped back and Mon Mothma stepped forward. 

_Sh*t. Oh, well, I knew this moment had to come -- like hell I did. I thought I'd be dead by now._

Unexpectedly, Esch turned to Madine. For the first time, he spoke. "If they don't want you, you fly with us." 

The unexpected endorsement had taken the officials by surprise from their expressions.

The lanky captain nodded at the officials, turned and walked past Madine into the BLESSED END, Gravie following. Madine stood alone, facing the Alliance authorities. 

"You left a mess on Coruscant, Crix," Mon Mothma finally said. "It's a pity that you didn't take out the tower."

"It's still standing?" Madine asked disappointed. "That's an impressive construction job." 

“I suspect the Emperor might have had a hand in the reinforcement,” she said. He knew as she did what she meant. 

"You blew out the reinforced windows even through the shields," Issahn cut in. "HoloNet is saying that you tried to murder him. It has thoroughly slandered your reputation --"

"I think that the holo about me did that first," Mon Mothma said sharply. That silenced everyone, some even looked embarrassed.   
Madine felt a deep burn of anger for both their sakes, his and Mothma's. 

"Unfortunately that played all over Coruscant," Madine said coolly. "May cause some problems when you return to reopen the Senate, but not much. Winners write their own history."

Her smile wavered fractionally. He was probably the only one who noticed. "I'm glad you made it here, Major," she said surveying him. He knew she was contrasting his current scruffy attire with the uniform he'd worn before. Most of what he was wearing was donated though he'd kept the comfortable blue Jedi pants and boots. "Finally."

He laughed. The tension in the hanger eased fractionally.

Issahn smiled at Madine. "We're glad you're alive. There's a lot to discuss. Let's get started."

"I'll see you later," she said, walking away, her aide beside her, two guards trailing and the rest of the soldiers watching intently. 

Madine walked down the ramp with an Alliance guard team at all four points. 

He felt very much at ease. This was where he belonged.

 

The Emperor was still furious with what happened with Madine’s escape. 

He had to say that the Empire trained their Special Forces officers well. No other kind would have had the nerve to wreck the Emperor’s tower in a suicide attempt. 

Two construction 'droids buzzed as they set the last of the reinforced windows back into the curved windows that topped the tower. 

Inside the private sanctum of the Sith Lord, the fallen lightsabers that had decorated the walls were piled where they'd been dumped while repairs were made. Palpatine looked forward to replacing them one by one in their niches, remembering his fallen foes and gloating. 

Which brought him back to the black-clad man who still knelt behind him. 

Palpatine turned to Vader. 

"Report."

"I have set new alarms to detect any activity around the Temple. The Home Garrison has made guarding it a priority."

"As they should," Palpatine commented. "Still it has been many years since anything happened there. What about Madine?"

“I placed a bounty on his head that will attract every hunter in the Galaxy. I have stipulated that he must be taken alive."

'Perhaps you should just execute him," Palpatine mused. "He is dangerous to us."

"He is just a man."

"One of ours. His family?"

"The Corellians say that there is only a sister who emigrated years ago. They are obviously protecting the rest of the family. We will find them."

"Mon Mothma's -- " 

"Have been sent to Kessel."

"Excellent. Through the Force, I have seen both of them dying here, Lord Vader. I trust you will succeed in catching them and quickly." Foresight wasn't Palpatine's gift but he doubted the damaged Vader remembered that.

"Yes, Master." Vader held out a lightsaber. "I took this from Captain Typho."

Palpatine let his fingers run over the smooth worn metal. "Mace Windu's saber for my collection. I thought this was lost forever. Did you speak with Typho then? What did he want so much that he came back here?"

"He asked... he asked about Padme," Vader confessed. "About those last days -- "

"You remember them, don't you?" Palpatine cut him off. "You remember what happened back then?"

"Yes, Master. I killed her."

"You did." Palpatine glanced back out the windows. _I sense that Typho has awakened doubts in him. It doesn't matter. Once I have his son, I will not need Vader any longer._ “How is your search for young Skywalker going, Lord Vader?"

"He is with the Rebellion at the moment according to our spies. I have made his capture my priority."

"As you should. With him at hand, our Empire, the Sith Empire, will last thousands of years beyond us. Catch him."

LATER: 

Mon Mothma met Madine in the corridor and they fell in step together. Their aides fell several steps behind them 

“Commander,” he addressed her formally though with a touch of amusement underlying his words.

“General Madine,” Mothma acknowledged with the same undercurrent of familiarity. Then her expression sharpened. “Are you sure of Solo?”

Madine nodded. “He’ll do the job on Endor. I’ve backed him up with my best attack team.”

Mothma’s expression showed a trace of doubt but it didn’t appear in her next words. “Botha took major damage for the information.”

“Not so many generations from now,” he said his tone hard, “they'll be back to normal.”

She nodded. “When we win, we can help them.” 

The door to the main conference room swished open and she lagged for a second, letting him go first. The room was bustling with pilots, and officers from across the Galaxy, all trained officers who had fought for a long time. This attack had to succeed. This was their last desperate chance of changing the present for the better.

She spotted Han Solo and Princess Leia seated on the opposite side joking with General Calrissian. The senior leadership of the Alliance was gathered. 

The meeting chimes bonged and the crowd quieted. The time had come. She stepped forward, seeing Madine standing to one side, his game face in place. It was time.

Mon Mothma, Representative of Chandrila, leader of the Rebel Alliance, looked around calmly and then started. “The Emperor has made a critical error,” she said “and the time for our attack has come…”


End file.
